


To The North

by Greythreads



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Keeping characters in character, Slow Burn, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 69
Words: 150,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greythreads/pseuds/Greythreads
Summary: When Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane reunite at Winterfell, neither of them knows if they'll survive what's coming for them all.But if they do, they'll need to figure out what comes next; for themselves, for Winterfell, for the North.A slow burn as they say... getting past the past, twists, turns, sweetness, eventual steamy stuff ❤A SanSan longfic I've been working on for a while... at first just for my own entertainment, so it's a mishmash of show, books, and my own imagination. Beware of loose canon, and me taking lots and lots of liberties with plot, people, and places... it's all just for fun, after all ;)
Relationships: Arya Stark & Original Character(s), Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 456
Kudos: 337





	1. Winterfell

Chapter 1 – Winterfell 

*Sandor*

He saw her up on the battlements, with the Little Wolf at her side, watching the procession move towards the castle gates. The two remaining Ladies of House Stark. One he knew had wanted him dead. He could only wonder about the other.

In this cold place of endless black, white, and grey, Sansa Stark was impossible to miss. A burning torch that drew the eye. He knew she would be here. Had heard she had finally taken back her home, was now the Lady of Winterfell. 

‘Do you want to go home?’ he had asked her that last night. 

After the years that had passed he had begun to fear her more a dream whose details were slipping away with time, than an actual memory. 

But here she was. Alive, home. That’s all he wanted to see. That should be the end of it.

‘I could keep you safe, I’d kill anyone that tried to hurt you again.’ Well, turns out the dead were coming now to hurt them all. 

There was a tightness in his chest.  
He needed to get out of this procession already. Stranger was getting anxious moving along at this snail’s pace. He needed to run. Or maybe it’s me that needs to run.

Why the fuck did I come here again?

To freeze. To fight. Probably to die.

No. 

A small pale hand on his shoulder. His cheek. A song of mercy.

I came for her. To be near her again. Even if she never knows or cares that I’m here. It’s enough. 

Fitting that the end of his first life began at Winterfell, and the likely end of his second would begin here as well.

These fucking Starks would be his death twice over.

He broke from the others as soon as he was through the gates and found the stables. “If you mean to keep from getting kicked or bit, best you let me tend him.” he warned the already harried looking stable boy. 

Once he saw to Stranger being brushed and fed, he left him in the largest stall he found free, and tossed his few things into an unused bunkroom behind the stables.

Winterfell was clearly short stable hands, so he helped the lad take in and tend as many horse as would fit. He wanted no part of the formal greetings in the yard anyway. 

The same yard he first saw her in. Chirping the same welcomes, just to a different Queen.

She was more child than woman then, blue eyes wide and so taken with the arrival of the Royal family. That damned red hair had drawn his attention, but it was the single glance his way and nervous smile that became his lodestone. She looked too soft and pretty for this harsh place. He was lost for her that very moment. He just didn’t know it yet.

Over the next few days the strange army of Northmen, Wildlings, Dothraki, Unsullied, and dragons settled in.

Fucking dragons. 

If he’d told anyone besides the others there that day that he, Sandor Clegane, the burned man, rode a fire breathing dragon, he’d be called a liar. 

He did what he could to keep busy, helping tend the horses, training in the yard, and lugging heavy things about in preparation. It was easy to lose himself in the vast number of bodies now crammed into the castle and surrounding fields.

Never wandering too close to the Keep. Never eating in the Hall. Drinking himself to sleep each night in his room behind the stables.

He had not seen her again since that first day, and did his best to not think of her. This was the closest he’d come to her since he walked out of her room, bloodied, drunk, and in tears, the night the Blackwater burned. 

‘Sing for your little life.’

Even if he saw her, what was he to do? Drop to his knees and beg forgiveness? Did any of it matter now anyway? The end of the world was marching toward them. He knew what was coming. He had seen them.

He told himself death would come and it was alright. He should have already been dead ten times over. A fitting end to his strange journey. It was a small relief she wouldn't be there in the Seven Hells for him to look upon in endless torment. He could deal with the rest.

Despite his best efforts, the work and the wine, he could still feel her. Her presence. Her proximity. It was a tension that never left his body. 

A small pale hand around his throat. 

*Sansa*

She saw him ride through the gate. His size was unmistakable, even at this distance. But it was more than that. She knew the set of his shoulders, the way he carried his head forward with his hair tilted over the right side of his face, the way his arms relaxed over his horse's reins. 

Recognition hit her like a fist.

She felt like she was falling. Her hands shaking and knuckles white as she clutched the parapet for support.

They all said he was dead.

She had wept. Mourned. Told no one what he had been to her, or what she had lost the night he left Kings Landing. That she dreamt of him again and again in the Vale. Only she knew.

He’s alive. He’s here. 

A wave of memories crashed over her all at once, and her hand flew to her mouth to trap a quick sob. 

Arya turned to give her a questioning look, but said nothing. She had to have seen him as well? Her eyes missed nothing these days.

Does he even remember me? 

He called me 'Little Bird'. Gave me his cloak. Twice. Gave me the ghost of a kiss misremembered by a terrified girl. It all had meant more to her than him, she was sure. 

Part of her wanted to run and hide, the other to run down into the middle of the yard. Have him see her. Demand to know why. Why he helped her. Why he was the only one brave enough to even try. Why he was still a voice she heard in her head.

Arya was still at her side, watching her from the corner of her eye, until she spotted someone that grabbed her attention.

“Bloody Hells. Gendry.”

Before Sansa could even ask who Gendry was, her sister was gone.

She was alone now as two dragons flew overhead, screaming. The dragon Queen herself was riding in next to Jon, with thousands of men and horses behind them that she would need to attend to.  
A wheelhouse. Probably Tyrion and Varys. Varys she barely knew, but Tyrion she knew quite well.

She needed to composed herself. There would be time later to worry about Sandor Clegane. Him being here amongst the thousands. Alive and in her castle. 

Gods.

The Lady of Winterfell took a breath, straightened her spine, and went down to greet her guests. It was her duty.

*Sandor*

He failed to hide well enough. He saw her again, just a few days later, as he trained in the yard. And it was even worse this time. 

She came so close he stopped breathing. Stopped moving. Took a blow to the arm by a training sword and didn’t even feel it.

He hadn’t seen her face this close in three years. 

Gone was the soft, pretty little girl he knew in Kings Landing. Her beauty was now as sharp as the blade of a dagger. Eyes frozen lakes. That hair still on fire. The only fire he had ever wanted to touch. She was truly a woman grown now, and held herself regally, but there was a chill about her that had nothing to do with the cold.

Every sword stopped a beat after his. Every man’s eye fixed on her. It couldn’t be helped. He stared along with them, his own sword lowered to the dirt like a warrior already defeated, his heart pounding. 

He took in every hair that found its way loose of her braid. Her breath misting in the cold air. Heard the fabric of her skirts rustle under her leather gown. Saw the silver circle and chain at her throat and the delicate studs on her bodice. The wolf’s pelt around her shoulders. 

Black leather, metal, furs. No longer the silk dresses and soft colors she wore in Kings Landing. He understood. The North was harsh, and she was a daughter of the North. Her dress and furs now her armor.

The Little Bird had been snapped up by this Lady Wolf.

But even in her armor she was still perfect, and it was terrifying. Like some queen of ice and snow.

She saw him then, met his eyes, and held them. Her face cold and composed. He froze like a trapped animal too stunned to bolt.

He was sure she could read the torment in his eyes, but he couldn’t look away. And then for just the briefest moment, he saw her composure waver, and his lost Little Bird was there looking up at him again. 

Then as quickly as she came, she turned her head and was gone. Only a swirl snow left where she had stood. 

*Sansa*

She had been on her way to the forge, looking for Arya. Her sister was waiting on some weapon her blacksmith friend Gendry was making for her, so it seemed a likely place to find her. 

The fact she had to pass the training yard was not lost on her.

When she saw him, her steps faltered for a split second before she recovered herself. He was sparring with one of the Northern Lords. jerkin shed, sweating despite the cold, fighting with all the same power and fury she remembered. Huge. Built like the Warrior himself. Terrifying. Burnt. But the moment she saw his face she felt her heart wobble.

She used to see him as others saw him. The Hound. Even his name struck fear. The scarred killer. A face you rather not look upon.

Until it was the face saving you time and time again. The secret of his burns yours alone.

Now she only saw the man who had protected her. His ferocity had been her safety. His hard words becoming entwined with her own inner voice over the years, goading her to be strong when she felt weak or laughing harshly along with her when she smelled a lie. 

His gentle touches were what she called to mind when she needed to block out the other touches that had hurt her.

As she met his stare she had to fight to keep calm through the rush of emotions, everything else around her blurring away but for him. After a few moments she had to turn away before her composure slipped. She had no idea why he still drew such raw feelings from her. 

After she fled, she had the impulse to turn back. To touch his arm just for a moment and make sure he was really there. 

She kept on her way instead. 

*Sandor*

The Little Wolf found him next. He was still in the training yard, trying to beat away his thoughts.

The Lady Arya Stark still dressed half a boy in breeches, with her Needle and a new dagger at her waist. One could easily jape at the little girl with the little sword. But he knew better. He knew what she really was.

"So it looks like we all lived. Even you Clegane."

"Aye. Even me. No thanks to you. You left me to die.”

“No, I left you to live.”

“Is that how you saw it? To live and come North to fucking die all over again. The Gods always do get the last laugh don't they." 

"Maybe." She shrugged. "Or maybe not."

She was immune to his harsh words and scowl. Their affection for one another was begrudging, but real. They were the only ones there for one another once.

He sighed deeply. This one he couldn’t scare off. She never did stop talking once she had something to say. 

"Makes no difference to me Little Wolf. Living feels harder than dying these days."

"Valor Morghulis"

"Aye, that's the truth of it.”

He eyed her little Needle. "Did you come to poke at me with that sword again, girl?"

"No. I came to train with Lady Brienne."

"Seven Hells, that big wench is here too? She your new dancing master?"

"No. But she's the only one to ever beat you. So I'm going to train with her."

"Suit yourself, girl. You'll get a lot of practice dancing while she's swinging her big fucking sword at you. Just tell her to stay the hells away from me.”

He bent to collect his practice swords, mopped his face with the hem of his tunic, and started to head back to the armory. 

Yet there she still stood. Arms crossed, head tilted.

Watching him and weighing something. 

"Out with it already girl. I don’t have all day.”

She came up close, squinted up into his eyes, and held his gaze in her unflinching way.

"I think you should talk to my sister."

He froze. Swallowed. Stared at the Little Wolf. 

"Now why would I need to do that?"

She studied his face. 

"I don't know. But you do."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"She doesn’t talk much of Kings Landing. I don't know what happened there between the two of you, but something did happen, didn’t it? Now whenever she hears your name she goes queer. Went all wobbly when she saw you ride through the gates. I thought she’d pitch right off the parapet.”

He had no reply for that.

"Sansa has been through the Seven Hells the last few years, but somehow came out of it the fiercest wolf of our pack. Don't let the dresses and good manners make you think otherwise. So whatever it is about you that has her unsettled, you better see to it and set it right."

He still had no reply, but went and sat heavily on the yard bench. His elbows on his knees, and his thumbs into his eyelids. When he looked up she was still planted there like one of those bloody grim faced Weirwood trees.

"You don't want to die again with my pretty sister once more the last regret on your lips, do you Clegane?"

Her smirk. Her grey Stark eyes too old and too wise for her age.

Fucking Hells. She remembered. 'Your pretty sister'.

"Why should you care girl?"

"Because she's my sister, you bloody aurochs. And if we somehow live through this, we'll both need more to live for than death, wont we?”

Others take her. She was going to be the end of him yet.


	2. Oathmaker

Chapter 2 – Oathmaker 

*Sansa*

Once again she stood up on the battlements. It was cold and late, but she couldn’t sleep. Too restless to sit in her chambers. She used to flee to the top of Maegor’s Holdfast too, when she felt trapped and couldn’t bear her rooms another minute.  
He used to as well. He had appeared as a hulking ghost from the shadows on more than one occasion.

She watched the snow fall gently, catching flakes in her gloved hand. So beautiful, each one on their own. The tiniest piece of the North in her palm. Winter has come. And she didn’t know if they would live through it.

A shadow rose behind her to block out the light coming from the stairwell torch.  
Somehow she knew he would come to her eventually. Fitting that it was up here.  
Like the snow, a hundred feelings hit her at once.

"Lady Stark" 

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice. It was the same voice from her memories. There was a tone in his deep rasp that had always penetrated her, like a tuning fork thrumming through her chest.

She felt him come up slowly behind her, but couldn't turn around just yet. She held her own shaking hands clasped in her skirts. 

Taking a breath now she could smell his scent, he was so close. The wind swirled it all around her. It was like no time had passed. Leather. Steel. Wine. Horse. Him. Scenes unspooled in her mind.

He was again kneeling in front of her, dabbing at her bloody lip.

He was again carrying her away from the mob, murmuring gentle words in her hair.

His cloak was again around her shoulders to cover her nakedness. 

His tears were again in her hand as she sang for mercy.

The frozen Lady of Winterfell had to will herself not to turn and melt. Not to spill the tears she was fighting and beg him to put his arms around her and make her feel safe once again before death came to claim them all. 

Would he think her mad if she did? Childish? She didn’t know what she was to him. Then. Now. What any of it had meant. Perhaps he didn’t know either, or perhaps it was nothing to him. To hear that would shatter her. 

So she settled her racing heart and composed her face, became a wolf again before she turned around to him. 

*Sandor*

He knew where he'd find her. She always sought higher ground when she needed escape. Like a bird. 

No, she's a wolf now. Remember?

Not to me. She's still that little bird in her heart. She has to be. They never broke her. She just grew fangs and fur around her feathers to survive.

She was standing with her face turned up to the falling snow, her palm held out to catch the flakes. Her hair down and loose, falling to her waist, damp and sparkling.

She could have been a statue but for the furs around her shoulders rising and falling with her frosty breaths. 

Her beauty still struck him like a blow. He'd never grow used to it. Everything he wanted to say choked in his throat.  
He couldn't move. He almost backed away. But he felt a pull that wouldn't let him.

"Lady Stark"

It came out strangled. It was all he could manage. Even the wine couldn’t loosen the tightness in his chest.

As he came up behind her, he saw her close her eyes, take a deep breath, and compose her face into the Lady of Winterfell before she turned to face him. His heart broke a little at that. 

"Sandor Clegane"

"Lady Sansa Stark"

"You had me thinking I was seeing a ghost when you arrived. When I was in the Vale, I had been told you were killed. I'm very glad that's not the case. How are you?”

“A little bit drunk, and definitely not a ghost. Although being back here after these years past, waiting on the dead, makes me feel like a ghost. Like I told your sister, the Gods love nothing more than a good jape."

"Arya. I've been meaning to thank you for that. For keeping her safe. I still don't know the whole of it, but I know she grew to care for you. Earning that from her is no small feat."

“Well she left me alive. Didn’t exactly feel that was her caring for me. I was begging her to kill me at the time. And I don’t need your thanks.”

His default response. Fucking hells. Why wasn't he a mute instead of just ugly? 

At that her eyes hardened. She took a step closer to him. Close enough that she could look up into his eyes, and he could see the blue of hers turn Stark grey.

"No, you never needed my thanks for anything, did you? Or my pretty words. What DID you ever need from me Sandor? I've wanted to know for years now. I’ve thought time and time again of Kings Landing. Every time I needed saving, when no one else in the city cared about me, there you were, but then afterwards you’d berate me for my gratitude. Why? I've never understood." 

She held his gaze like a vice. He felt every one of his failures. Every harsh word he spoke to her. Every time he frightened her. What had he needed from her? Nothing. Everything. 

"Save you. I did a piss poor job of saving you from anything Little Bird. All I did was stand there. Stand there while that cunt Jeoffrey pointed a crossbow at you, had you stripped and beaten. Killed some rats in the street. And the one time I meant to save you properly, I did it drunk, covered in blood, and with a knife to your throat. How did that turn out? Nothing I ever did was worthy of your gratitude.”  
He needed her to know.

She turned back to stare out into the night, and didn't say anything for a long while. When she did turn to face him again her words were little more than a whisper.

"Did you ever stop to think that I may have thought differently? That ANY kindness at the time filled my heart and kept me going day after day? I knew as well as you what you were risking each time you helped me. And yet you’d still do it.”

"It wasn't enough. I didn’t do enough." He said just as softly, letting his hand reach out to pull back a lock of hair that had blown across her face, running it between his fingers. 

"You deserved more." He couldn't keep the catch out of his voice. 

"We both deserved more. But I was grateful for what you could give me. You were the only one I ever felt safe with. Yes, you’d bark harsh words at me but not once did you hurt me like the others. You never lied to me, even if the truth would scare me. You knew it was truth and fear that would keep me alive in that place, didn’t you? You saw me as a person. You were the only one.”

The Little Bird was the first to see him as a person as well. That hand on his shoulder in the dark. Such a small gesture. That hand had cracked him open and let everything about her wisp into him like curls of smoke.

She watched his face as he struggled with her words. He felt stripped bare. 

"Sandor, It meant everything to me."

It wasn't Lady Stark looking into his eyes now, it was his Little Bird again. Her face soft and vulnerable. 

He couldn't stop himself from reaching out to her again. Tucked her hair behind her ear, and held her cheek in his palm. She exhaled and leaned her head into his hand, closed her eyes. 

Slowly her hand rose to cover his.

May be she understood. 

It meant everything to him too.

They stood like that. Neither willing or able to move. 

"Lady Stark! The scouts just returned at the back gate!" They both turned to see a Page breathless in the archway. 

They dropped their hands and she snapped to attention. Only the briefest flash of fear passed her eyes before her head was once again held high, her back straight.

"Let Lord Snow know immediately, and tell him I'll meet him down in the yard in a moment. Then find my sister.”

The boy ran off with his instructions.

She turned back to him and let out a mirthless laugh. "You know, none of this feels real. White Walkers, the dead marching, dragons, Dragon Queens, Dothraki, Unsullied armies. Everyone preparing to fight, and all I can do is watch. I envy you and Arya your swords. Something to swing in your rage."

Suddenly the horn sounded. They looked at one another. Three blasts. 

The end of the world had arrived at last.  
She grabbed his hand in both of hers and brought it to her chest, looked up to meet his eyes. 

"Sandor. Don't die again. Do you hear me?”

He could feel her heart beating under his hand.

"Do you hear me? Promise me. Promise me!!"

"I promise, Little Bird." 

It was the first oath he had ever sworn. He hoped he could keep it.


	3. Morning After

Chapter 3 - Morning After

*Sandor*

After the dead suddenly dropped around him, and the whole world went silent, he let his axe drop to his side, and fell to his knees.

He'd never felt exhaustion so deep. His body numb from hours of nonstop fighting. 

Once he could lift his head, all he could do was breathe and stare almost unseeing at the destruction around him. 

How in the hells was he still alive?

As his senses slowly returned he began to see the others around him who had also managed to survive, looking as dazed as he.

He was still on his knees when she found him. Her face raw emotion, skirts in her hands, running towards him. His Little Bird. She was unhurt. Alive.

She stood before him and lifted his face in her hands.

"Sandor are you hurt?!!"

Her hands now at his chest. His arms.

"Are you hurt?!! Tell me!!"

"No. Not hurt."

The breathe she let out and the relief in her eyes were what finally stirred him to his feet. Needing his axe to help him rise. He swayed on his feet but somehow remained standing. She flattened a palm to his chest and took his hand in an effort to steady him.

He laughed. "I won't go down." But she didn't look so sure.

He had kept his oath to her. He didn't die. Although he had no fucking idea how. And she was here with him now. He just focused on her face and kept breathing. That was enough.

She was dirty and her hair was a mess. A small cut was bleeding on her forehead and her skirts were torn. Tears had dried through the dirt and soot on her cheeks but that Stark determination was on her face as she looked around. 

He would have grabbed her up into his arms if he had the strength left to move them. 

"Arya? Your brothers?" He was almost afraid to ask the question. 

"Alive. They're all alive. Arya stopped it, she killed him. She's with Bran now."

Killed who? He was too tired to ask. Just glad the Little Wolf was alright. 

He saw the burning trenches again. The dragonfire. Red flames. Blue flames. Fucking fire everywhere. Why was it always fire?

He recalled picking the Little Wolf up and dragging her away from a swarm of dead coming for her. Dondarrion giving his life to hold them off. Her screams of anguish that she could not save him. The Red Woman. Dondarrion dead. And then she was gone, and he found himself back outside somehow, fighting again. 

The Little Bird kept his hand, and he let her lead him back into the castle. She would pause along the way to give orders to whatever uninjured servants remained, placing her other hand on his chest whenever they stopped, still trying to help hold him up. Or perhaps just make sure he was still there. 

Dawn was breaking. The sun rising as usual, unaware that the world had almost ended. 

She continued to give orders as they neared the Great Hall. 

Passing her dazed looking chambermaid, "Evvie, gather the others. Get all the rooms in the family quarters opened, as the guest wing was burned out."

To a Stark soldier, "Errek, bring any injured you find to the Small Hall, Maester Paul will treat them there. Let the other men know."

To the young stable boy, "Tom, find some of the other boys to help you go outside the walls and gather whatever horses you find running loose."

All the while she somehow kept him moving. 

"You need to rest now Sandor. Drink and eat. The cooks are preparing whatever food they can get out." 

The hand on his chest again. Her face looking up into his. The only reason he was still on his feet.

When they arrived in the Hall, she pushed him into a seat and called for the servers scrambling in to bring him wine and whatever was available to eat. 

Others arrived, all looking worse for wear, and the Hall began to fill. More people left alive than he would have expected. 

He had seen countless battles in his lifetime, and this was the worst of them. Unrelenting. The odds impossible. Even with the dragons. And yet here they were, and here he was. These Northmen were a tough lot. The Unsullied and Dothraki as well. 

A wine cup was set and filled before him, and once the Little Bird saw that a plate of food for him was following, she put her hand on his shoulder. 

"I'll have a room prepared for you in the Keep, and send someone down to fetch you when its ready. I need to go see to it that Maester Paul has everything he needs. You stay here and rest."

"Aye, I'll be here. Too tired to go wandering off."

She never forgets her duty. The dead piled to the walls and still her jaw is set, mind on her next task.

With that she leaned down, and took his ravaged cheek in her hand.

His insides went slippery. 

He'd fight the dead all over again for that one touch alone. 

"Rest. Eat. I will look in on you later."

"Aye".

A bit later, after he’d had some wine and whatever food was placed in front of him, Tormund sat down heavily at the table with him, dragging Gendry into a seat as well. They looked as bloody and tired as he. For once the crazy ginger was quiet, and the boy looked half dead.

More men joined them, and bit by bit, as they found their voices, they told their accounts of what happened. Most didn't believe it when they were told that the Little Wolf ended the Night King. Ended the Long Night. 

Stabbed the fucker right in his frozen heart.

Sandor believed it. These men didn't know her as he did. Just saw a young girl. But she was a force to be dealt with. A killer. More fight and courage in her than ten men. He believed it alright, and so did her blacksmith boy. 

A Page finally appeared at the end of their table to let them know chambers were ready for Sandor, Gendry, and Tormund in the Keep, and led the three weary men up to their rooms and beds.

It was all he could do to remove his jerkin and mail before falling across the featherbed with his boots still on, asleep in seconds.

*Sansa*

Staying busy the rest of the day was the only thing keeping her hands from shaking, and the horrors of last night from her mind, but now she was nearing exhaustion. 

After seeing to her brothers and sister, she made her way to the room she was told was given to Sandor. 

Trying the door and finding it unbarred, she quietly let herself in. She had to see him again. See that he was truly still alive and well.

A fire had been laid in the hearth earlier, and she stirred the embers until she had a small flame to light the darkness.

She could now see the great bulk of him, thrown diagonally across the bed, snoring, and with his boots still on.

She picked her way along a trail of discarded axe, jerkin, and mail on the floor, and came to stand at his feet, letting herself look upon him sleeping. 

His face slack and at rest, he looked almost boyish. She had to resist the sudden urge to crawl onto the bed next to him and tuck herself under his heavy arm. After all the terror and death, she wanted to feel its weight grounding her. Reminding her she was safe. Alive.

Instead she slowly removed his boots. He didn't so much as stir as she tugged them off and let them drop to the floor. She drew a fur over most of him and went around the bed, managing to tuck a pillow under his head.

She reached out to gently move the hair out of his face and lowered her lips to his forehead.  
"Thank you for staying alive. I couldn't lose you a second time." She whispered to him, lips grazing his temple. 

She left as quietly as she came, instructing the chamber boy in the hall to leave him a flagon of wine for when he woke, and to let him sleep undisturbed. 

Making her way up the stairs to her own chambers a floor above, her legs felt like lead. She removed her gown and boots numbly, and climbed into her bed still in her shift and stockings. 

She was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, with a prayer of thanks to the Old Gods and New still on her lips.

*Sandor*

He slept for a day and a half, only waking once during the night to piss and remove his tunic and breeches - they stank of the battle, and he wanted them off his skin.

As he made his way back from the privvy, he noticed his boots standing together beside the bed, and his mail and jerkin laid off to the side, neatly on a chair. A flagon of wine and cup were on the table, and a pillow and fur on the bed, waiting for him to return to. 

She had come to look in on him as she said she would. Something stirred in his belly at that thought. 

When he next awoke it was late morning. He found the chamber boy already moving about the solar, with a plate of food on the table and a pail in his hands, filling a tub. His door was left open to make the boy’s trips back and forth a bit easier. 

"What's happened since I've been asleep boy?" 

The boy looked up at the giant man towering over him with big rounded eyes.

"The pyres have been built and the bodies gathered, m'Lord, they're set to say words and see them burned at dusk tonight"

"I'm not a Lord, boy. Alright, see to finishing filling that bath. I feel like I need to wash the Stranger himself off me."

He scratched his chest and rubbed at his eyes, still stinging from the smoke and ash of the battle. His body ached everywhere at once, but nothing felt broken, save what he expected were a few cracked ribs.

The boy scurried out of the room to retrieve his next bucket of hot water, following the trail of wet spots left from his last trip. 

Sandor poured himself a cup of wine and took a swig. He looked about the chamber as he drank. These were fine rooms he had been given. Family chambers, or perhaps for noble guests. He never had his own solar before, or a chamber boy. 

Before he could finish it and return to the bedroom to fetch his clothes, the Little Wolf walked through the open door. 

She stood looking at him, unfazed at finding an almost naked man standing in only his small clothes, scowling at her.

"Still alive. Again." She said up to him with a wry smile, and her arms folded.

"Seems we are. Heard a rumor that you're a hero now. Killed the horned fucker with that pretty new dagger of yours."

"Someone had to. Didn't do it to be a hero." She shrugged. 

He had to laugh. The Little Wolf sounded more like a Clegane than a Stark. Perhaps he had rubbed off on her a bit during their time together. 

"Are you coming down to the pyres? I asked to light Ser Beric’s. He died saving my life. I owe him. You saved me again too, didn't you? I’m starting to think you might actually like me."

She squinted up at him.

He laughed. "Aye Little Wolf. I might just like you." 

They heard a gasp, and both turned to find Sansa in the doorway, dressed in her blacks with her hair braided back, looking every bit the Lady Stark. The very startled Lady Stark.

He remembered just then he was still standing in only his small clothes. 

She stopped short in the doorway, eyes wide as wagon wheels and blushing deeply as she took in the scene.

Her eyes quickly darted over him head to toe, before she dropped them to the floor, and began stammering out an apology. I don't think she even noticed the Little Wolf standing there until she spoke.

"Gods Sansa, get a grip. It's not like you haven't seen a man before."

"Arya! What are you doing here? Jon and the Queen are asking to speak with you. Gendry is looking for you as well."

"I bet he is." She replied with a smirk, and he had to chuckle again. So that’s how it was between the Little Wolf and the blacksmith. 

"I'll see you both later then."

Arya left, sliding past her sister, still in the doorway, face crimson. Sansa stepped aside as the chamber boy wobbled past her with another sloshing bucket. “Pardon me M’Lady" 

Her eyes flitted between the floor and the walls, anywhere but on him.

"I'll let you get to your bath. I just came to see how you were. Arya told you of the pyre service at sundown and the feast afterwards?" She addressed the flagstones, unable to meet his eyes, still blushing furiously. 

"Aye, I'll be there. I'll even put on clothes." He chuckled as she blushed deeper still.

She looked up at him and let out a small embarrassed laugh. 

"Alright then. I need to see to the kitchens. If you’ll excuse me."

And then she was gone down the hall in a rustle of skirts.

*Sansa*

She practically ran towards the kitchens, willing the redness from her cheeks.

How was she to know his door would be wide open?

And who stands almost naked in their solar with the door open?

And Arya! Chatting with him as though nothing were amiss! Sandor seemed oblivious to it as well! 

She pictured the scene and blushed all over again from head to toe. The kitchens could wait. She needed a bit to compose herself first. 

Changing direction she went back to her chambers instead. 

She fell into a chair, pressing her cool hands to her cheeks, and tried to calm herself. She was being a silly child. There was no reason to be embarrassed. Arya was right, she's seen men's bodies before. 

But Gods. 

His was... 

And when he turned...

GODS.

She was grateful her maid had left the wine from breakfast. She poured herself a full goblet and drained half in one sip.

As she felt the wine settle her nerves she was able to think on it again calmly. It was nothing. Silly to react so strongly. She had duties to attend to, a feast to hold tonight. She couldn't sit here and swoon like a maid.

She stood and smoothed her skirts, took out her braid and brushed her hair, styling it again loose, with small braids just at her temples to keep the rest back. By the time she finished she felt much more relaxed. 

There. Now to see to the kitchens and tonight's meal. I'm fine. It's over. I won't give it another thought.

But GODS.


	4. Not A Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which House Umber is reborn. Why? Because I like them. I like the GreatJon. I like that he has tall sons. And I hate what the show did to that poor little Umber boy in S8. So in my fic, they live again! Mwah ha ha ha!!

Chapter 4 - Not A Lord

*Sandor*

The pyres stretched out in front of the castle. More than two score of them, laid full with bodies. The dead wights were out further, piled and already burning. The thick black smoke thankfully blowing south, away from Winterfell. 

The living stood together behind their leaders or Lords. Northmen, Wildlings, Dothraki, Unsullied, smallfolk, Direwolf and even the dragons. Damned beasts lurking too close, in a field just to the west. 

Fucking dragons. 

If someone had told him before the Long Night that this motley lot would save Westeros, he would have laughed in their face.

The Starks stood together. Arya, Sansa, Jon and Brandon. Each more straight and solemn than the next. You could almost feel the stone statues of their ancestors nodding their approval from the crypts. 

He wasn't one to be moved by ceremony, but this was different. He felt a bit kindred with the North as of late. No ornament or pretense, these Northerners, just hard, honorable, and honest. That was the way to do things. He could respect it.

He was beginning to understand the Little Bird better now that he had come to know her people. What he had once taken for just more empty courtesy, he now knew was simply the proper North in her. To these people duty and honor weren't just words, they lived by them.

And he had mocked her for it. 

The Little Wolf once called him the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms. She may have been right. 

He watched as the dragon Queen wept over Mormont. She was certainly beautiful and brave enough, but he could tell Sansa did not trust her quite yet. She had learned her lessons in Kings Landing from another fair-haired Queen chasing the throne. 

The Queen gave a fine speech, and he was surprised to hear that such a little thing had a battlefield voice in her. But it was when Jon Snow spoke that you could feel the shift. 

He was a born leader, that one. He may be called Snow but that boy was a Stark to his core. The emotion in his voice didn't weaken the power of his words, if anything it strengthened them. His effect on people wasn't lost on the little Queen, who watched him, looking more concerned than moved.

Then it was the Lady Sansa Stark who commanded a rapt attention by stepping forward to take the first torch from her brother.

Her hair was parted and held back with two small braids, the rest flowing freely down to her waist. She was wrapped in a grey cloak, shoulders surrounded in her fur, held by silver direwolves at her throat. 

Even though she was paler than usual, the darkness under her eyes showing sorrow and fatigue, when she moved out of the crowd and walked slowly to light the first pyre, she looked regal in her own right. 

His heart clenched. He felt an odd sense of pride watching her. Ha. As if he had anything to do with the woman she had become. She had become all she was despite him and everyone else, and not because of anyone. 

He didn't even notice the Little Wolf move to his side, watching him with those eyes too old to be in her young head.

"I want you to escort me to Ser Beric's pyre. You should be there too."

"This was your plan all along, wasn't it girl? Fine. But you hold the damn fire. And I'm not getting too close."

So he walked with Arya, the little hero of the North, to say goodbye to their most unlikely friend. She said no words and shed no tears. Nor did he.

He could feel every eye on them. He laughed to himself at the picture they must cut. The smallest warrior and the largest. 

Once all the pyres were lit everyone slowly said their final goodbyes to their dead, then made their way to the Great Hall for the feast. 

Everyone but the Starks and the white Direwolf. They stood quietly together, watching the flames for a while longer.

He reluctantly entered the Hall, not one for crowds, but also not one to pass up good food and wine. How the Little Bird could manage to put on a feast two nights after her castle was nearly destroyed was a wonder.

Tormund spotted him and stood to call him over. He had already managed to secure a horn of ale in one hand and an entire haunch of meat in the other. 

"Clegane! Come! We have said farewell to the dead, and now it's time to celebrate life!"

Bloody Hells, this one.

But he sat nonetheless, grabbing a flagon of wine from a passing serving girl. Gendry was already at the table as well, filling his plate.

The Starks eventually filed in and took their seats at the High Table, joining the Queen and her people. The Imp was seated alongside the Queen, and the Spider as well. Cunts. It was as if everything he had tried to leave behind in Kings Landing kept crawling after him.

Arya was the only one missing from the table. And Mormont of course. The little Queen seemed wan and lost without him. He had been a constant at her side. 

It had become almost painful for him to look at the knight and his Queen together. He knew too well the look of a man desperately in love with a woman he would never have. Mormont had the added blow of knowing his Queen was in love with Jon Snow.

Toasts were made, and the drinking and feasting began in earnest. Everyone was looking to drive away the fear and loss of the last few days.

He watched Sansa from time to time. She looked happier now. The wine she sipped was bringing color back to her cheeks and softening her smile as she spoke to her brothers.

After the meal, the tables in front of the Hall were pushed aside in preparation for dancing. A crowd was gathering around the High Table, shielding his view. All were toasting and drinking to victory and to one another. He turned his attention back to his drink. 

"Have you seen Lady Arya?" Gendry leaned towards him to ask. "She didn't come to the feast. Did she maybe mention to you where she would be?”

He had to laugh. 

"So that's the way of it, eh? You're soft for the Little Wolf?"

"I just want to talk with her. I mean, we are friends.”

"I'm not blind boy. I see just how friendly you are with her." he smirked.

The boy turned red to the roots of his hair. "I... I...."

"You... you... go find her then. Why not. You're still alive. So is she. Might as well make the most of it. She'd have already filled you with holes from her Needle if she didn't want you sniffing around her. So go."

The boy didn't have to be told twice.

Tormund had gone off to do some sniffing himself. He fancied Brienne of Tarth, the big wench, of all people. The crazy fucker. The Wildling had a death wish apparently. He felt more relaxed alone with his drink anyway. Free to once again let his eyes settle on Sansa. 

She was still seated, listening to the men gathered around Jon Snow telling tales. He growled into his cup when he saw the Imp climb onto the empty chair next to her. 

Fucking Lannisters. First the Imp turns up on Dragonstone with the little Queen, and then the damn Kingslayer himself shows up at the gates of Winterfell a few days before the dead. 

Even here at the cold ends of the earth he was still plagued by Lannisters. 

He had heard Sansa’s marriage to the Imp was never consummated. It was the only reason he hadn't found a way to put his sword through the little fucker. Would have put one through Littlefinger and the Bolton bastard too, but the Starks had already taken care of them, if the stories he had heard were true. 

He couldn't allow himself to think on what those stories said happened to her first. More rumor than truth. Had to be.

A fiddler started up, and people began to dance. He refilled his cup and watched as some young Umber Lord approached her and asked her to dance.

She smiled graciously, rising, and accepted his hand.

He had stood behind Joffrey, who rarely cared to dance, and watched the same scene a hundred times. Some knight or Lord cunt leading her off, to press her too close and fill her ear with gallant drivel while they snuck looks down her dress. All because they had the right surname. 

It still soured the wine in his stomach, but there was nothing to do for it. Clegane wasn't one of those surnames. He could only scowl down into his cup, thinking he'd had about enough feasting for the night. 

Before he could rise to leave Tormund returned. Shouting, drunk, and with a serving wench under each arm. There was no escaping this ginger idiot. The Tarth wench must have told him to piss off again. 

"Clegane! Look what I found for us! What better way to celebrate such a victory than with some beautiful girls to warm our hearts and our beds! Ha!"

"Fuck off. I've done my celebrating already."

"Come now, look at this one! I think she likes you!" he released one of the girls, and she slid into the seat next to him. 

"She's all yours Clegane! And this one is all mine!" he said, giving the girl still under his arm a squeeze and playful bite on the neck. He turned and led her away, grabbing a tankard of ale off the table, and made off towards his rooms.

Seven Hells. Now this shit.

He glanced at the girl before returning his attention to his cup, hoping she’d see he wasn’t interested and piss off. She was pretty enough, but he just wanted to go drink himself to sleep, not deal with some giggling serving wench pressing herself up against him. He long ago lost his taste for quick fucks with loose women. 

The wench was sliding her hand up his arm now, and the other he felt snake across his thigh. 

"My word, you’re so big and strong M'Lord. Why don't you take me up to your chambers and show me just how big."

"He's not a Lord."

At the voice, he whipped his head up to look at its speaker.

The Lady Stark.

There was smirk teasing her lips and the wolf in her eyes as she stood before them. With the perfect highborn tilt to her head, chin out, and hands clasped at her skirts, she looked down at the serving girl. 

"Ana, I believe there are tables that need more wine. Would you kindly see to them?"

The girl couldn't scurry away fast enough.

He chuckled deeply.

"Seems you saved me this time."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Saved you from a pretty little serving girl with her hands all over you? Not the sort of saving I'd think you'd need."

It was his turn to smirk at her. 

"Then to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit to my table from the Lady Stark herself?" He mocked.

She held out her hand to him and swayed just a little bit, her haughtiness abandoned. 

"I'd like a dance."

His eyes shot to her hand and then to her face.

"You're drunk girl."

"Just a bit. It’s a celebration, and I want to dance."

"With me..."

"With you."

"Fucking Hells." He growled, but rose and took her hand before he could stop himself. 

*Sansa*

"Thank you for making this happen Sansa". 

She laid a hand on his arm. "It was my pleasure Jon. I may not be able to swing a sword but I can certainly plan a feast. It gave me something to keep my mind off of everything."

It had turned out to be a decent feast. Informal and relaxed. Gods know after what they all had just been through, they deserved it. 

From the High Table she sipped her wine, not all that hungry. She was content to see everyone relaxing, starting to smile and laugh. 

Sandor was sitting at a table with Jon's Wildling friend Tormund, and Gendry the blacksmith. 

No, not just a blacksmith, a Baratheon. King Robert's bastard. She knew he and her sister were friends, and suspected perhaps more. Arya had confided the secret of his parentage to her earlier today. 

Arya who didn't come to the feast. 

She should wonder where she was but when was Arya EVER where she should be? 

Well, not counting the Godswood in time to kill the Night King. She laughed to herself aloud at the irony. Ha! The wine must be going to her head. She liked the feeling, and poured herself another cup.

The Queen was to her right, down a few seats, sitting quietly, watching Jon and his men drink and laugh together, Ser Jorah Mormont’s absence at her side painfully obvious. 

The Queen and Jon were another 'perhaps more' relationship. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, especially knowing the truth about Jon's true father now. It was another secret revealed today. To say she and Arya were shocked when Bran told them was an understatement. 

She looked over at Sandor again.  
Tormund had left his table and was off trying to woo Brienne, and Gendry had presumably gone to seek out Arya. 

She knew Sandor preferred to be alone, although she wished he didn't. He had earned the right to smile, laugh, and tell his battle stories too. 

"Lady Sansa. Apologies for interrupting your thoughts, but since the last time we spoke we were in a crypt about to die, I thought it would be nice to talk again while we were alive and happy about it. Gods know how long that will last."

"Lord Tyrion." She blushed a bit, hoping he hadn't noticed where her attention had been directed.

"Please, have a seat". She gestured to the empty chair next to her that Jon had vacated. 

He hopped up beside her. "You continue to amaze me, my Lady. You somehow put together a splendid feast in a battered and burned castle, and even managed to find decent wine up here in the land of ice and snow."

She had to smile. "Thank you. You saw how skilled I was with a dagger. Luckily I'm much better with half staffed kitchens and a key to the wine cellar."

"You are a most capable mistress of this castle."

"This castle... I feel like I’m living the tale of the man being punished by the Gods by having to roll a boulder up a hill over and over, for the rest of his days. I love Winterfell, but it seems my destiny is to rebuild it over and over again."

"Let's both hope this is the last time. But think, soon you'll have every eligible Lord in the North at your doorstep begging for your hand and the honor of rebuilding it for you. Let one of them do the heavy lifting, my Lady."

"I can think of nothing I'd like less. I'm done with husbands... no offense to present company. I've been betrothed and married off enough for a lifetime."

"You have a point. Well, then do something scandalous instead. Take a handsome lover like they do in Dorne, have a few beautiful bastards, and leave it all to them when you go."

"Ha. If only I could. The Northern houses would never abide. I suppose I will have to remarry eventually, I just don't want to think about it yet."

"Well just know if I wasn't in my present position as Hand of the Queen, I would be happy to take the hand of the Lady of Winterfell, again. I'm not much of a heavy lifter, but I think you know I have a genuine affection for you my Lady. And you've become quite the savvy politician. I'd like to think I may have rubbed off on you a bit during our marriage."

"You were the best of my husbands." She laughed. "But in seriousness, I never got a chance to thank you for your kindness to me during that time."

"That means much and more to me Sansa. It was enough to be, however briefly, married to the most beautiful Lady in Kings Landing." He took her hand and gallantly placed a kiss. 

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go see where my brother has disappeared to."

As he took his leave, she heard the fiddler start up a song, and saw the serving boys begin to push empty tables aside to clear a space for dancing. 

She felt her cheeks with her hands. She was feeling warm and happy, but was probably as red as a pomegranate. Perhaps she had a bit too much wine, but it was a celebration, after all.

When one of the younger Umber Lords (she couldn't recall his name at the moment, the GreatJon had several sons...) asked her to dance, she accepted gladly. She couldn't remember the last time she had danced.

He was tall, handsome, and as she was happy to discover, a fairly good dancer.

He told her she looked lovely, and talked about her perhaps coming to visit Last Hearth sometime as his honored guest. 

He kept talking, but was starting to sound like a suitor, so she stopped listening and just enjoyed the dance.

The song was almost at its end when she heard Tormund bellowing. "Clegane! Look what I found for us!!"

Her head snapped up and she almost missed her steps when she heard his name.

When her partner turned her about, she peered over his shoulder in time to see Tormund presenting one of her new serving girls to Sandor. The Wildling had a girl tucked under each arm.

She could barely focus on the rest of the dance. Her eyes kept turning towards Tormund nuzzling one girl while offering the other to Sandor, and shouting about warm girls and warm beds or some such thing.

She thanked the Umber the second the music stopped, and moved towards the scene before she even thought through what she was doing. Her stomach dropped and her blood rose to see the girl sit and slide boldly up against him. 

Against him! 

By the time she reached the table her eyes could focus on nothing but the girl's hand stroking his arm, and more shockingly, the other reaching under the table for his thigh. 

She couldn't keep the words from her lips once she heard the girl cooing in his ear, and calling him 'm'Lord'.

"He's not a Lord.”


	5. Dancing

Chapter 5 - Dancing

*Sandor*

He didn't know if he was more shocked that she had asked him to dance, or that he rose and took her hand. Buggering fool.

As she led him through the loud and increasingly drunken crowd, he began looking for his escape as if he were surrounded in battle.

He saw none but for throwing her over his shoulder and removing them both from the Hall. 

Carrying off the Lady of Winterfell would likely draw even more attention than him dancing with her, and more than a few Northern swords. 

He felt like Stranger rolling his eyes at the scent of wolves. 

When they were finally amongst the other dancing couples, she stopped and looked up at him expectantly. 

Fuck.

"Are we just going to stand here looking at each other Sandor?"

"I don't dance Little Bird."

"You can't dance, or you won't dance?"

"I can dance fine, girl. Just never had any use for it. Had you ever once seen me dance in Kings Landing? See the pretty maids lining up before me for a twirl? No. I don't dance."

"Fine. Then walk with me. I could use some air."

Thank the bloody Gods.

She took his arm before he could think to offer it, and they made their way through the Hall. More than a few eyes followed them. She led him out into the small family courtyard tucked behind the Keep.

As they walked his thoughts went from thanking the Gods for saving him to cursing himself for a fool again.

Stupid man, you could have had Sansa Stark dancing in your arms right now. You’re not serving the King any longer, and she’s neither his betrothed nor his prisoner. It would be no crime. 

It would have raised some Northern Lords' eyebrows as well. It only took them a few days of remaining alive to recall the Lady Sansa Stark would make a very choice bride, and make one of them the Lord of Winterfell. 

He had never been in this courtyard, despite the rooms he had been given overlooking it. It hadn’t seen any damage from the battle, and was full of small ornamental trees and shrubs covered in caps of snow. 

She led them to the stone bench surrounding a large bubbling fountain and sat, arranging and smoothing her skirts.  
He stood looking down at her.

"Please, have a seat. It’s hard to have a conversation with you way up there." She patted the bench next to her.

So he sat. Sighed.

"Why is this stone so warm?"

"The fountain is fed from the hot springs running under the Keep. It stays warm all year. This is probably my favorite place in Winterfell besides the Godswood. There are hot springs there as well. They feed the pool before the Heart Tree. We used to bathe in it as children. The water is so warm, steam rises from it in the winter and makes it seem almost magical.”

"Your sister could have just pushed the Night King into that magical pool then. Seen if he'd melt like a snowman."

She laughed. A real laugh. It made his stomach flip about to hear it, and at something he said, no less. 

"I like you a bit drunk Little Bird. It's good to see you smiling and laughing."

“And I like discovering the fearsome Sandor Clegane has quite the sense of humor. I never knew.”

“Well just don’t expect me to start juggling next.”

"I'd like to see my sister laugh again. She's so quiet and grim now. It worries me." 

"She'll be alright. Give her some time."

"Who would have thought it would be Arya that ended up saving us all?”

“I’m not surprised. She spent months trying to kill me.”

“We fought like cats growing up. She would tease me because I enjoyed sewing pretty dresses and such, and I would be haughty and awful to her because she wanted to get dirty and fight like the boys. We had absolutely nothing in common. And the tricks! She was forever playing tricks on me. She loved nothing more than to see me upset.”

"Like when you ended up with a face full of her pudding the night your family feasted King Robert?"

"You saw that? I wanted to strangle her. I never saw you in the Hall that night."

"No, you were all starry-eyed, mooning over the Prince. I was the big ugly fucker standing right behind him."

"Please don't remind me. Gods, I was so stupid then."

"Not stupid. Just a child."

"I suppose. I wish I could go back and do everything differently. Instead of begging my father to go to the Kings Landing, I’d fall on my knees and beg him to stay at Winterfell. It all feels like a lifetime ago now, doesn't it?"

"Aye"

“I still miss him every day.”

“He was a good man.”

They sat a moment in silence. He watched her run the end of the chain she wore around her neck absentmindedly through her fingers. The silence stretched on, but it wasn't uncomfortable. 

She turned to him again after a bit.

"I'm sorry I scared off Ana"

"Who?"

"Ana, the serving girl. I'm not sure why I did it. You probably could be spending your evening in a much more enjoyable way right now."

The moon was bright enough out that he could see her blush. He loved when she blushed. 

"I thought you scared her off because the tables needed more wine, Lady Stark?"

She blushed harder. It was almost too easy. Like when he used to goad her when she was a girl, just to see her undone. 

He chuckled. "I'm not sorry, Little Bird.”

She smiled.

They both turned when the door opened behind them, and a servant shoved an empty cask against it to keep it open, letting some cool air into the Hall. It threw a warm light over the courtyard, and they could hear the music drifting out now.

The Little Bird stood and smoothed out her skirts. Ready to go back to the feast he assumed. So he was surprised to see her hold out her hand to him, as she had done inside.

"You still owe me a dance, my 'Not a Lord'."

"Out here?"

"Yes. And before the song ends. It's one of my favorites."

He hadn't stayed alive as long as he had by making the same mistake twice. 

He took her hand and rose. She walked them a few steps from the fountain. He tried to keep breathing normally as she positioned herself in front of him and placed her other hand on his shoulder. 

He stopped breathing all together as he flattened his hand against the small of her back. 

For all the times he had touched her in the past; grabbing her arms to steady her, dabbing her lips, throwing her up over his shoulder or onto a horse, even lifting her sobbing from her bed as she mourned her father, he was never as aware of her under his hands as he was now. 

He realized it was because this was the first time she had invited his touch.

They fit surprisingly well together. He didn't even have to bend over to hold her properly.

As they began to dance, she smiled up at him, the smile reaching all the way to crinkle those blue eyes of hers.

“I’m glad you remembered to wear clothes tonight, or this would be quite awkward.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. 

“Clever Bird.”

Despite it being decades since he danced, he remembered his steps and managed not to let the feeling of her warm back distract him. It wasn’t easy.

In this moment, he thought, holding her in his arms and watching her face smile up at him, I am happier than I can ever remember being before. 

He recalled the Elder Brother telling him once that it took no courage to be angry, it was allowing yourself some happiness that took guts. The man wasn’t wrong. 

When the song ended and the fiddler switched to a ballad, he called up some more bravery, and pulled her a bit closer, not ready for their dance to end. Not ready to let her go. He felt her hold him a bit tighter as well, and her eyes grew serious and soft as they held his. 

He had no gallant words for her, but he knew she didn’t expect them from him. 

“Was a time you couldn’t even look at me.”

“I’ve seen a lot worse than you since then. It was never your face, Sandor. It was your eyes I couldn’t look long at.”

“My eyes?”

“Yes. They held so much anger. The rage I’d see in them scared me, and I’d have to look away. I wanted so much to say or do something to take a bit of what I saw there away, but I never could.”

“My eyes.”

“Now who is chirping words back?” She teased gently.

He could only stare down at her, take in her smile.

“I don’t see that anger in your eyes now. It’s gone away.”

“Aye, Little Bird. It’s gone away.”

The whole world had shrunken down to this courtyard, and nothing else existed but their dance in the snow.

*Sansa*

I've danced hundreds of dances from the time I was a little girl. There's no reason this should be any different. 

But it is different. 

Luckily the wine had already gone to her head and didn't allow her to worry on it. She just knew she wanted nothing more at this moment than to dance with him.

When he placed his hand on her back, the heat of it, and the scent of him as he drew her close, made her stomach go wobbly. It was funny how scents could stir so many emotions and memories. 

She couldn't help but look up at him and jape, "I'm glad you remembered to wear clothes tonight. This would have been quite awkward otherwise."

His laugh was genuine, and it thrilled her. 

At first they danced shyly, glancing at each other when the steps brought them together, but then they fell into a rhythm, and it felt effortless.

He was an excellent dancer. It wasn't that he used fancy steps, but more the way he held her and moved her. It was almost possessive. Fierce. He danced like he fought. And her body responded to it, going where he led her.

She couldn’t keep her eyes from his face. He looked happy, his eyes soft, and it was shocking how handsome he was without his scowl.

After a bit the fiddle slowed into a ballad, and instead of letting go he pulled her a bit closer and continued on. Her chest would graze his from time to time. Each time it happened she had wanted to press closer still. Both the wine and the surprising desire that was growing inside her were intoxicating. 

She looked up and caught his eyes, smiled. "And I thought you didn't dance."

"I don't."

"Well you are now, and it's lovely.”

"Hmph."

"It’s not very often I'm lucky enough to have a partner taller than me."

"That Umber you were dancing with tonight was taller than you."

So he had been watching. 

"Barely. But dancing with you I almost feel small and delicate."

He laughed at that. "To a big fucker like me, you are small and delicate."

She smiled. "Now you've gone and spoiled me for all other partners. I may just keep that fiddler and demand you dance with me every evening."

She felt him tense and pause for a beat at that. She flushed and glanced down hastily. The wine was making her too bold.  
A realization hit her. He would be leaving soon.

He came North with Jon and the Queen. He'd most likely march South with them as well.

South. Back to Kings Landing. 

She gripped him a little tighter. Moved just a breath closer. Hoped the song would play on longer.


	6. Grateful

Chapter 6 - Grateful 

*Sandor*

"Seven Hells! Tell me I'm not seeing this. You're DANCING??"

The Little Wolf suddenly appeared out of nowhere right next to them. 

Truthfully, she could have walked up to them banging on pots and he wouldn't have noticed her. 

He was holding the Little Bird in his arms, almost against his chest, he could smell the scent of her soaps in her hair, on her skin... and she had just looked up at him and told him she may want to dance with him every night. 

One of those fucking fire breathing dragons could have landed next to him and he wouldn't have seen it.

And now this little shit, with that bloody smirk, goes and ruins the moment. He fought back the urge to chuck her into the fountain. 

Sansa released his hand and stepped away from him. He immediately wanted to growl and snatch her back. 

"Yes, he was dancing. He's quite good actually. He's been keeping it a secret." she smiled over her shoulder at him.

"And I thought after the Night King I had seen it all. But now I've REALLY seen it all. How drunk ARE you that my sister has you dancing?"

"Will you shut up, girl."

Sansa jumped in to change the subject before they could end up shouting at each other. 

"Where were you tonight Arya? We missed you at the feast."

"Aye, and your blacksmith was looking for you too. Poor boy looked like a lost mooncalf." He snorted.

"He's not 'my' blacksmith. And he found me just fine. I was in the armory. Training."

"Training? You just won a battle and saved the world last night. You should want to rest a bit and celebrate.” Sansa looked confused. 

"Don't feel like celebrating just yet."

He looked at the Little Wolf and he understood. By the Gods, they were too much alike. 

He walked over and put a hand down onto her small shoulder.

"Some battles take longer to finish fighting than others. Helps to keep hitting something."

Arya met his eyes and silently thanked him for understanding. 

Gods these wolf girls were making him soft. 

"I need a drink." he said abruptly, turning back to the Hall. Leaving the wolves both watching him walk away.

*Sansa*

"So what exactly did I just interrupt?" Arya asked once they were alone.

"Nothing. I needed some air, and Sandor was kind enough to escort me."

"Was 'kind enough to escort you'? And then you both decided to start dancing??"

"I asked him to. It was one of my favorite songs."

"Bloody Hells, I think you're both drunk."

Sansa felt the events of the day fall on her at once, and she sat less than gracefully on the bench once again, pressing her palms to her cheeks.

"Perhaps."

Arya came to sit next to her. They sat quietly a moment. It was still strange to her seeing her little sister so calm and quiet. 

After a bit she had to ask.

"Arya, has Sandor talked to you about his plans now that the battle is over? Will he be marching South with the Queen?"

"Don’t know. In case you haven't noticed, he's not a much of a talker. Why are you so interested in his plans?"

"No reason. Just curious."

Arya quirked her eyebrow up at that.

"What? I was just wondering. I know you two are close. He cares for you."

"Don't know about that, but he understands me. Not many people do. He cares about you too, you know. I can see it."

Sansa looked down and began smoothing her skirts. Said nothing. She knew Arya was watching her. Waiting for something.

"What happened in Kings Landing Sansa? With him. After I left. After father..."

It was a while before she could answer.

"They all turned on me after father... everyone. I became nothing more than a prisoner to humiliate and torment whenever Joffrey was displeased, or bored, or Robb won a battle. I hadn't a single friend. Except Sandor. I'm still struggling to understand why, but he was the only one to ever try to stop them. He protected me in whatever ways he could. Saved me from being raped and killed when the others left me for dead in a riot. He was this harsh, terrifying man, and he scared me at first, yet never once did he try to hurt me. He was the only one I could trust. He offered to take me with him, take me home, the night of the Blackwater, but I was too afraid to leave. After that, he was gone. And I had no one again. I regretted not going with him every single day."

The tears she held back to tell it finally fell. She had never told anyone of that time before.

She didn't tell Arya everything about that night, although she'd probably be the only one who knew him well enough to understand. What had happened between them was frightening, but raw and intimate as well. It would remain between her and Sandor.

Arya took her hand. "And then he found me in the woods."

"And then he found you."

"I think you know now why he did it. Protected you. In Kings Landing. Don’t you?”

She could only nod.  
"He's a good man. Rough, even brutal at times, but good. Inside. Where it matters. He kept me alive."

"I know." Arya replied quietly. "He kept me alive too."

“When I’m with him now I feel… Do you really think he cares for me?”

"Yes. How else would you have managed to get the most surly man in Westeros to dance with you. I almost died on the spot to see it. And I suspect he'd do a lot more than dance for you. Gendry wasn't the only mooncalf about tonight."

She laughed through her tears at that. Sniffed. Composed herself a bit, and gave Arya a smirk.

"And now about your Gendry. What's going on there?"

Arya stood, shrugged. 

"I like him. He likes me. He's kind, brave, a little stupid. Looks good bare chested and swinging a hammer. Knows what to do with his breeches off."

"Arya! You didn't!"

Another shrug, her face absolutely unapologetic. 

"We were all about to die. I figured 'why not?'. Seemed stupid to die still a maiden."

"And now what? I thought you didn't want a husband!"

"Gods, I don't. Tonight he told me the Queen spoke to him. Plans make him a true Baratheon in name, and the Lord of Storms End. Then he asked me to marry him. Be his Lady. I said no."

"Oh Arya, that poor boy."

"There's more. That's why I came to find you. In a few days the Queen plans on knighting several of the men that fought with us, and announce new titles and Lordships. There's several of them. The wars wiped out many houses, took many first sons."

Arya watched her sister’s reaction to this news closely. 

"Do you understand? Sandor will be one of those new Lords. Lord Clegane."

She couldn't keep the shock off her face.

"How do you know all this?"

"Jon. I spoke with him after I left Gendry this evening."

Sandor. A Lord. She started laughing. 

"What's so funny?"

"Arya, imagine Sandor's reaction when he's told he's to be a Lord. Oh Gods, he'll probably be the only man to ever curse at a Queen upon receiving a new title and end up fed to a dragon instead!"

"Blood Hells!" Arya was now laughing along with her. 

"Lord 'I'm-not-a-Lord'. He's not going to take it well. I'd better ask Jon to let him know ahead of time, before he's in front of the Queen."

"Probably best." 

That set them off laughing again, and it was wonderful to have something between them to laugh at after all these years of sorrow. 

*Sandor*

The Hall had emptied a bit by the time he went back in. The only people left were the ones still drinking, the ones too drunk to leave, and the servants cleaning up around them. He barked at a passing boy to fetch him a skin of wine. 

As he waited, he saw the serving wench the Lady Stark had scared off him earlier. She kept her eyes low and left the Hall for the kitchens as quickly as possible. 

He laughed. He should thank her for angering the Little Bird, and giving him one of the best nights of his life. Or was it Tormund that deserved the honors? Didn't matter. He was grateful. 

He took his wine when the boy returned and headed to the Stables to check on Stranger. 

He met no one along the way but a drunken couple groping in an alcove. They immediately sent his thoughts to how Sansa felt as he held her. How it would have felt to run his hands over more of her and hold her to his chest. He was glad now for his nerves. He'd had to focus on the dancing and not what touching her would have otherwise been doing to him inside his breeches. 

He found Stranger in a fair mood. The stable boy had left him in the large stall, and figured out that keeping him well fed made him less likely to bite and kick. Smart lad. He liked these Northerners more and more each passing day.

He stroked the horse's ear, then scratched at his neck. Stranger snorted his approval.  
"I danced tonight boy. Danced. Would you fucking believe that? With my Little Bird. Would never have thought." With a bob of his head the horse seemed to agree. 

"You'd like her. She’s tough like her little sister, but sweet. And smells good. Not like the two of us." Another snort.

He left Stranger with an apple and headed off to his rooms. He was still sore, bruised, and his cracked ribs ached still. Nothing new for him, but it all hurt enough that he should get some rest while he could. To have his own warm rooms with a large featherbed was a luxury not to be squandered. 

Along the way he thought of how warm the curve of the Little Bird’s back felt under his hand. How her soft lips and blue eyes smiled up at him when they spoke. He sometimes forgot about his scars when he was with her now. He felt almost handsome when her eyes were on him. That feeling made him more drunk than the wine.

He had wanted to kiss her. Was bloody hard to resist. He almost gave in and did it, but then the Little Wolf appeared. Probably a good thing. He didn't want to scare her off. She had already been through enough at the hands of men, and he would never take anything from her she wasn’t ready to give.

When he arrived at his rooms, he found the chamber boy had already laid a fire, and a plate of sweets left over from the feast and flagon of wine were on the table waiting for him. He would need to remember to ask the boy his name tomorrow. He could get used to the lad. 

He ate one of the little cakes before stripping to his small clothes. This time he thought to lay his things on the chair rather than the floor. He slipped into the soft bedding with a groan of appreciation. 

He didn’t even need the rest of the wine to get to sleep, only the lingering thoughts of his Little Bird in his arms.


	7. The Gloaming

Chapter 7 – The Gloaming 

*Sansa*

She spoke to Jon that morning at breakfast in the family solar. He confirmed what Arya had told her last night about Sandor being given a Lordship and the others receiving titles and Sers from the Queen.

"Jon, if I may ask a favor of you, would you let Sandor Clegane know about this beforehand? Privately?"

"I can, but why?"

"He despises titles. He feels most Lords haven’t earned them, and most knights are unworthy of them. If you recall, his brother was the Mountain. Even at the Wall I’m sure you heard tales of his butchery in the Riverlands. Gregor Clegane was a knight and the most unworthy of them all. You've spent time with Sandor, you know what he's like. He's a good man, but harsh. Better he receive word about it from you first, rather than in open court before the Queen. Who knows what he's liable to say. He may need time to think on it."

"You're right. I'll send for him after breakfast. I'm glad you thought of it. You're very good at this you know, the people, politics."

"Thank you. I had to learn to survive Kings Landing and Littlefinger."

He looked at her with a sad smile, and she could feel how sorry he felt that he was never able to prevent any of it.

"Well, I've asked Dany to include you in her last council meeting before we go, because once we ride South, you will hold Winterfell as the eldest Stark. You need to know all that will be happening once we move on Cersei."

"So this means Bran is still against taking his rightful Lordship, doesn't it?"

"Yes. He wants no part of it. Says he's the Three-eyed Raven, and that's all he can ever be."

"I wish to the Gods I knew what that meant, Jon. Even after all that's happened I still don't understand what he is. What he sees."

"I don't either, but I've seen enough to know to trust him. We may never understand it Sansa, but it's not like to change."

"You're a Stark too Jon. More than you were ever a Targaryen or a Snow. You can remain a Stark. You don't have to go South. You can still support your Queen and keep your pledge of fealty from here. She wouldn’t deny you. Perhaps she’d even permit the North to remain under you as it's King. She’s met our people now, she’s seen our lands. You could change her mind.”

"I've thought about all of it long and hard Sansa. It's not a decision I've made lightly. I don't want to be the Lord of Winterfell, and I never asked to be King of the North. Winterfell is yours by rights now. And I can’t come out calling myself a Targaryen either. I’ve promised Dany I’d never reveal my claim. So I must remain Jon Snow. Serve our Queen as Jon Snow."

"But Jon..."

"Sansa, there’s something else you need to know.”

“Seven save me, I don’t think I can take many more surprises and secrets! Ravens, Targaryens, Baratheons, Faceless sisters… am I secretly someone else too now? If so I don’t think I want to know.”

He laughed, and she was glad to see it. He’d done so little laughing lately. 

“No, you’re truly Sansa Stark. But once Dany is on the Throne, I plan to go beyond the Wall with Tormund and the Free Folk who want to go home. I don't want to fight anymore, and I certainly don't want to rule. I just want a simple life, free from thrones and wars. It's where Ghost and I belong."

She knew he meant every word.

"Have you told her this?"

"No. Not yet. I will. After."

"Jon, I don't think I'm wrong when I warn you that the Queen wants more from you than your service. She's in love with you. She's not going to let you go so easily.”

"I know, and I love her as well, but she's my aunt by blood. It changes everything."

"Not for her."

"No, not for her."

"Just please be careful. You know I appreciate all of her help, but still have my reservations."

"I know. I'm aware she can be rash at times, and stubborn. But she has a good heart. You’ll see. She will be a good Queen. And she has another appointment to make, one that concerns you. When I go you aren’t just going to be the Lady of Winterfell. I’ve asked Dany to name you Wardeness of the North, and she has agreed. The North is yours if you want it.”

She did. 

“I’m honored Jon. I will do my very best for the North. Thank you for your faith. The Queen as well.”

“Just remember, the North is even bigger now. All of the North. You won't rule the Free Folk, but you will need their trust and friendship going forward."

"I understand. Luckily my brother will be one of them soon.” She said with a smile.

Despite her fears for him, she had to accept his decision to settle beyond the Wall. He deserved to live in peace, as he chose. They all did.

And she was truly to be Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North.

She liked the way it sounded. Her father may no longer be here in flesh, but his spirit would never leave the North, and she meant to make him proud.

*Sansa* 

The next feast was to be held in two days, this time to celebrate the new knights and Lords the Queen was to make.

The arrangements took most of her time that day. She met with the cook to plan the food and drink, saw to the music and gave the servants their instructions, then made her way back and forth through the castle to advise the various Lords, Ladies, and Captains of the Queens plans. Afterwards she had Maester Paul see to the few ravens that needed to go out.

If things continued at this pace, Winterfell would see more feasts as a ruin then it ever had whole.

By late afternoon her thoughts crept to Sandor. Jon had surely told him of his Lordship by now, but she had been too busy to find him to inquire as to how it went, and couldn't very well ask Sandor himself. She didn't want him to know she knew of it prior and didn't tell him.

She was excited at the prospect of another feast, though. She wanted an excuse to dance with him again. And again. 

Every moment of last night was etched in her mind. She hadn't ever known exactly what she felt for Sandor Clegane, but knew that both then and now his presence was a force in her life, and his absence had left her feeling empty. 

Her confusion was gone the moment she saw the serving girl put her hands on him. The jealousy that burned through her spoke for itself. 

The stirring desire she felt as they danced last night, the first true desire she's ever felt for a man, was a surprise to her. She never thought she'd ever care to feel that way. But there it was, growing from the moment he held her. She wondered now if he had felt the same.

She had decided to go the extra step and send word to the seamstress in town, requesting fabrics for a new gown, sure she could sew it and have it done in time. She wanted to look beautiful. That was something she hadn't cared to do in a very long time. 

Despite their teasing banter, she knew she could not ask him to dance again. She was still enough of a Lady to wish for him to make the next request, so she would have to make the prospect look as pleasing as possible. 

By the time she finally finished it was close to dinner. She left the Hall, telling herself she would visit the Godswood for a bit. 

She purposely took the long way that brought her past the back gate and the training yard. As she passed, she looked to see if perhaps he was there.

He had trained there daily since arriving at Winterfell, with whatever willing opponents came by. At first men gathered there to see the infamous Lannister Hound for themselves. Get the measure of him. Then came the attempts to challenge him and prove their own prowess. Once he had defeated them all, they began seeking him out to train with in earnest, and he had become both a sought out sparring partner, and a reluctant Master at Arms of sorts to the younger men and boys.

It pleased her to see him accepted by these Northerners and Wildlings (Free Folk, she had to remember now, they preferred to be called Free Folk). They were practical people, and didn't put stock in appearances as much as ability. To them his scarred face was far less interesting than his skills with a sword. 

She didn't have to look hard to see he was there, he stood at least a head taller than every other man. But he wasn't sparring, instead slashing a quentin to pieces and muttering oaths with each strike, and the others in the yard were leaving him a large berth in which to do so.

Well, she knew now how his meeting with Jon went.

She thought to go find Arya, ask her to perhaps talk to him. They had a strange bond when it came to anger and violence, but she dismissed the idea. She was the Lady of Winterfell, and she could handle one angry man.

Couldn't she?

Walking slowly around the yard to where he was laying his assault, she quietly stood until he noticed her.

He finally glanced her way and stopped his attack. He met her eyes for a long moment, and then tossed his sword to the dirt. As he stood there with his hands on his hips, chest heaving to catch his breath, she watched him and waited. 

He would look terrifying right now to anyone who didn't know better, and she liked that. It woke up that little flutter in her stomach. 

Once he seemed to have calmed himself a bit, he bent to retrieve his sword and walked towards her, lifting the hem of his tunic to mop his face.

She tried hard not to stare at his bare stomach. To keep her eyes on his face.

"Lady Sansa.”

"Sandor. Would you care to take a ride with me? I feel an overwhelming need for some peace and quiet, and have need of an escort."

He stared hard at her for a moment. "Aye. I could do with a ride."

Picking up his jerkin thrown over a bench, he walked off towards the stables, leaving her to follow. He was still absorbed in his own thoughts, so she said nothing.

She asked Tom to ready her horse once they arrived, and Sandor went to Stranger's stall. 

She looked over towards him as she waited, and was not prepared to see him tug off his sweaty tunic and toss it onto the stall door. 

He certainly wasn't timid about undressing!

He rummaged for what she assumed was a clean one in his saddlebag hanging from a hook in the stall. 

This time she couldn't look away. 

His shoulders and back were all muscle. With each movement she could see them bunching and releasing under his skin, a score of battle scars moving along with them. 

GODS.

She knew she was blushing yet again. That little flame of desire from last night was back in her stomach. She thought of Arya telling her how she liked the way Gendry looked bare-chested and swinging a hammer. Now she understood.

She almost hoped he didn't have another tunic in that bag.

He finally found what he was looking for, pulled a clean but crumpled tunic on, and began saddling Stranger. Afterwards he donned his jerkin, and grabbed his cloak from a hook. 

Thankfully he didn't notice that she had watched the entire scene, as preoccupied as he was. 

Tom led her saddled grey mare out to the yard and she walked after them, pulling on her gloves. Stranger and a scowling Sandor followed behind them. 

Tom ran off to fetch the step for her, but before he could return she felt large hands around her waist, and was lifted onto her saddle.

"Oh! Thank you Sandor." He just nodded.

Once they were mounted they rode out the front gate, over the gently rolling swath of land that led to town.

They rode in silence. The moon was just beginning to rise, almost full, and it shared the sky with the setting sun. There was enough snow still on the ground to reflect the light from both, and it seemed warmer this night than last.

"My father called this time of evening 'The Gloaming'.” She said after they had rode on a bit. 

“When I was small I thought it sounded silly, then as I grew older I decided it sounded perfect. This is my favorite time to ride, especially after it snows. Everything looks either painted in sparkles or in shadows."

She thought he wasn't going to comment when the silence stretched on. Then she heard him sigh.

"Aye. Your North is growing on me, Little Bird."

"It's funny to think that my North is actually the South now to Jon and the Free Folk. Tormund is always going on about our 'Southern ways'."

"Fucking crazy ginger."

She laughed. "I think he's a bit charming, in his own way. And he certainly likes you."

"Hmpf."

"What was it like beyond the Wall?"

"Cold, then colder. Nothing but endless ice and snow."

"Did you get to climb to the top of the Wall?"

"No, we went under it. There’s a tunnel.”

"I'd like to see it someday, the lands beyond the Wall. I bet it still looks just as it did when the Starks of the First Men came."

"I forget sometimes that your house was of the First Men. The blood in your veins from a line eight thousand years old. House Clegane is only two generations old. Barely a scratch on the surface of Westeros.”

She knew where this was leading and held her tongue. 

"Now your brother tells me I'm to be named Lord of it, with my brother finally dead. Given a fat purse, and a little nod from a little Queen."

"That's wonderful Sandor. You'll have your family home back, and your lands."

"Bugger that. I don't want it. I don't want any of it. I told your brother to have the Queen burn it to the ground, give the lands back to Casterly Rock. I'm never going back there."

They had come to a stream, and he stopped to dismount. He turned Stranger loose to drink, then came to her. Once again taking her by the waist, lifting her off her horse and to the ground. 

"Thank you, Sandor."

He nodded as he took her reigns and led her horse to drink next to his. 

They walked to a large boulder on the bank and he sat, hands clasped between his knees, head hung staring down at them.

His anger from earlier was gone. Now he just seemed sad. She had never seen him this way and her heart went out to him. 

Squatting primly before him, she put a hand atop his knee, looked up into his down-turned face.

"I know you hate titles, but you deserve this. You earned it. It wasn't just given to you because Gregor is dead. Take it. Restore House Clegane. You can start a family. A legacy you can call your own."

She couldn't read his face as he looked at her. 

“A family. With what wife?"

"With a Lordship now, you'll have your choice of matches that can be made."

With that his anger returned. He stood so abruptly she fell backwards and sat in the snow.

"Fuck your matches, girl. What sort of match is there for a Clegane? You think I want some weeping girl, dragged before a Septon and forced into my bed, because her father tells her she has to marry me? Bugger that. That's the sort of shit that landed you in the Red Keep, beaten and bloodied half the time, then married off to the Imp. The Bolton. Or have you already forgotten? How did THOSE matches work out for you?"

She tried to stay calm and bite back her own anger. The truth of his words stung.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought that perhaps having your home and lands back, and the prospect of a family, may make you happy." 

"Happy?" he growled as he grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet, still holding her fast, her hands pushing against his chest defensively. 

"You know nothing of what would make me happy if you think all it would take is a stranger in my bed by way of some fucking match. Is that still your idea of happiness Lady Stark? A loveless match to some highborn cunt for the sake of lands or alliances? Only one thing would make me happy, and I'll never have it. So shut up about it." 

"Sandor I... "

"You what, Little Bird? What?" he shouted and he gave her a shake. The anger back in the grey eyes boring into hers.

She needed to tell him. Tell him how she felt. Ask him how he felt about her. Make him see that none of it mattered to her; houses, names, ancestries. She only wanted to be loved for herself.

But in the face of his rage she had no words, and they stood there, locked in this angry embrace for what felt like an eternity. 

He finally released her shoulders and stepped back from her like he had just woken from a trance.

"I'll accept the bloody Lordship. Take the title, the purse, and my horse. I'll ride West and burn down the fucking Keep myself. The Clegane line can die with me."

"And then where will you go?"

"It doesn't matter. Away. It's nothing you need to worry about. Go make your next match, Little Bird. May be your brother will choose that pretty Umber cunt that's been sniffing at your skirts."

With that he marched off to gather the horses from the stream and led them back.

She was still frozen in place, tears in her eyes, clutching at her cloak. 

When he approached her again she thought he might have something else to say, but he just bent and scooped her up like a child, and carried her to her horse. 

"Time to go back."

They rode back to the castle in the falling darkness and silence.

At the stables he dismounted and once again helped her from her horse, handing her reigns to Tom before turning his back and walking Stranger into the stables himself, as if she was no longer there.


	8. To Town

Chapter 8 – To Town

*Sandor*

The next morning he and Stranger were up and on the road to Winter Town before the Castle had even begun to stir. 

His head pounded from the wine he drank himself to sleep with last night, and he was glad the sun hadn't risen yet.

I’ll need supplies before I ride West, he told himself. But truth was he just needed to get away from the castle today. Away from every buggering Stark in it. 

Away from her. 

Why the fuck did the Little Bird have to start chirping about matches and happiness?

After their time together the night before he foolishly thought perhaps she was beginning to realize that SHE was what made him happy, and that he could perhaps make her happy as well.

The way she had smiled and laughed while they danced was genuine. He had watched enough of her false smiles and polite laughter in Kings Landing to know the difference. Knew all too well the mask she wore and the mummers farce she had to play at to stay alive there. 

Fucking Lordship. Others take it.

It wasn't the title, he could live with the damn title if he had to. It was that it meant he would have to leave the North. 

House Clegane was a Western house. 

And the North is where the Little Bird was. Where she belonged down to the last drop of Stark blood in her veins. Not in the bloody West. 

He had no delusions of marriage to her, even with the title of Lord Clegane he would never be able to marry Sansa Stark. 

House Clegane was an upjumped minor house, and Stark a name and bloodline as old and noble as Westeros itself, but he would have been content to just be close to her. 

Staying on at Winterfell was what he had thought to do. Ask her brother for a position as Master at Arms. The boy knew his skill with a sword. 

But he was offered House fucking Clegane instead. 

In the short time he had been in the North, he had come to feel like he could belong here. The people were simple, honest, and honorable. Not one of them had shied away yet at the sight of his face. Northerners had more important things to worry about.

But he had told her he’d take the Lordship.

And she had said nothing. 

*Sandor*

When he arrived in town, he knew he didn't really need to do much more than visit the tanner to see if new boots could be made in time to replace his old.

Stranger's tack was fine, provisions he could get from the castle, and his bag of the Queen's gold would be safe unless Dondarrion managed to rise again from ashes.

The tanner's wife greeted him at the door of their small shop when he knocked. She was old but sturdy, with her long white hair in a Northern braid. She bade him enter with a squint and quick smile up at him. 

"G'day, m'Lord. Now you're a big fellow. Watch your head at the frame so you don't knock yourself out comin' in. How can we be of help to you?"

The boots he requested could be ready this evening the tanner said. Not much else he had to work on at the moment, and could start them now. 

His measure was taken, and he gave them a silver piece, promising another this evening for their quick work. The old woman was so pleased she made to hug him, and he thought he'd have to pry her loose.

His purse had been filled by the Imp for his service to the Queen before they rode North. Now the Imp would be throwing a bigger purse at him as he left. None of it mattered. It couldn't buy him what he really wanted anyway. 

After he took his leave he and Stranger rode the streets, and ended up at the one Inn in town, his stomach reminding him he needed to eat still.

The few people inside looked up from their meals as he came in, and he recieved the same number of nods. After a plate of hot ham and bread, and two cups of wine, he felt a bit better.

Having nothing to do now, and still hours away from returning to the tanner's to pick up his boots, he thought to find a seamstress. 

As big as he was, proper fitting clothing was hard to come by unless made for him, and he could do with new tunics and breeches. His were now no more than rags after months on the road. 

He had been used to Lannister gold providing for his wardrobe, never giving the regular appearance of simple, but new clothing much thought. He might have been their Dog, but it was seen to that he was a properly dressed Dog.

The seamstress shop he found was even smaller than the tanner's, and he felt like an aurochs standing before the little woman inside, his head in the rafters. 

She had a pretty face, and a smile for him too. Said she could make him whatever he liked. Milly was her name.

He told her what he needed, and she immediately fluttered around him to take his measure, then pulled out a stool to stand on to reach the top of him with her knotted string. 

"You're in from the castle, aren’t you? One of the men come with the Queen and the dragons to fight? The giant warrior Hound the boys speak of?" she smiled warmly.

"Aye."

"Well, we all owe you a debt of gratitude m'Lord. We thought to lose our lives that night, but here we are, breathin' and goin’ about our business."

"Here we are." He agreed.

"Will you be at the feast tomorrow evening m'Lord? And the Queen's court?"

"Aye."

"In that case, let me make you a proper new jerkin? Yours is a ruin if you don’t mind me sayin' m'Lord. My gift to you. For all you done. It would please me."

His surprise must have been written on his face because she went on quickly. 

"It’s no trouble, and you'll look the finest Lord there. You can thank me by telling the others that Milly in Winter Town made it for you." She winked.

"Alright. But nothing too fine. Don't want to look like a powdered cunt. Something simple I can also wear when I travel will do."

She agreed, said she knew just what would suit.

“Can it be ready before Court tomorrow?”

He was glad she had mentioned Court. Wouldn't have done to show up in rags.

“Oh yes m’Lord, I have a few girls here to help, they’re always happy for the work, and Tessa, the tanner's wife helps me with the leather piecing. All will be ready.”

Before he could leave the door banged open, startling them both. 

A breathless boy ran in, dressed in Stark livrey. 

"Watch yourself Harrol, you'll be taking down my door!"

"Sorry Milly. Lady Stark sent me to pick up the fabrics for her new gown, and bid me hurry back so she could begin work on it right away."

He stiffened when he heard the boy.

"That's fine, I have it here ready. Take care you don't rumple it. Those are fine satins and cloth o'silver. Won't do to have them arrive to our Lady ruined."

She handed the boy a soft packet wrapped in roughspun, and he flew back out the door. 

"Shame for me that Lady Stark prefers to make her own gowns. Would have enjoyed making this one. Expect it will be lovely. She does beautiful work, our Lady."

He could say nothing. 

Milly promised to have his things delivered to him at Winterfell tomorrow midday, as half the town was headed there anyway to perform their various services in preparation for the feast.

He paid, and wordlessly left her with an extra silver piece pressed into her palm.

The Little Bird was rushing to make a new dress before the feast. He didn't know why this bothered him. 

From what he had seen she had plenty of fine dresses. Her black Lady Wolf armor. But the seamstress said satins. 

What was the Little Bird up to?

Bloody idiot, you have more to worry about than a Lady's dresses.

He spent the rest of the day riding the woods surrounding the town with Stranger. Good way to clear his head. To just ride. 

The day was almost warm, and the snow on the trees was beginning to melt.

He returned to town at dusk, and retrieved his boots from the tanner's wife. They did good work. The boots were of good black leather, strong but soft. He chucked his old boots in their scrap pile, stood as patiently as he could as the old woman 'm'Lorded' and pat him like a long lost son, and left in the new pair.

Still not ready to head back to Winterfell, he returned to the Inn. He found it full now, and loud with a crowd of bodies all talking, eating, and drinking.

He chose a table in the back corner, and sent the serving wench for a chicken and wine. After he ate and drained the first flagon, he sent the wench back for a another. 

Just as he was starting on a third, and feeling the tightness in his chest beginning to loosen, the Little Wolf slid onto the bench across from him.

"Fucking Hells girl, why must you turn up everywhere I look? Can't leave a man in peace?"

"I could if you weren't always being so stupid. What did you say to my sister that has her so upset? I thought you two had worked things out. There was dancing, for fuck’s sake!”

He poured himself another cup of wine.

"You mean to say she didn't tell you all about my new Lordship, and how very happy she was for me that I'd be off on my way to the stinking Westlands soon?"

"So that's the way you think it is with her?"

"Aye, that's the way of it."

She narrowed her eyes and studied him intently. Silently. 

Both of them scowling. 

Gods, this one could be his own blood for how alike they were.

Finally she leaned forward and took the cup of wine from his hand. Took a big gulp and wiped her lips on her sleeve.

"I understand now."

"Understand what, girl? Out with it already. All your understanding."

"No. This time you need to figure it out for yourself. And you better figure it out soon."

She drained his cup and slammed it back down in front of him.

"See you at Court tomorrow, Lord Clegane."


	9. A Dangerous Woman

Chapter 9 – A Dangerous Woman

*Sansa*

She went to bed in tears last night. When she awoke this morning that sadness had turned to frustration.

Flinging her furs aside, she got out of bed and into her robe, poured a glass of the honeywine that was left for her, and sat by the hearth sipping it and thinking.

There was a knock on her door, and her maid Evvie entered with her breakfast, Arya at the girl’s heels.

“You missed dinner last night, and didn’t come to breakfast, so I had it brought up. What’s going on?”

She sighed deeply. 

“I went riding with Sandor yesterday afternoon, and we argued about his impending Lordship. He wasn’t pleased, as we knew he wouldn’t be. I tried to point out the opportunities his Lordship could provide him, and he just became enraged at me.”

Arya rolled her eyes.

“Let’s see if I have this right. He was angry, so you tried to say what you thought he wanted to hear, it made him angrier, then he shouted and swore, and in the end neither of you said what you really should have.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you didn’t tell him how you actually felt, did you? You said what you thought was polite and proper, expecting him to react like a normal person, and instead he charged like the bloody aurochs he is.”

“No. I didn’t tell him.”

“Think Sansa. Why is he really mad?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do. And you’re both afraid of it. You’re both protecting yourselves from more hurt. You do that by being proper. He does it by being angry.”

Sansa stared down into her goblet. Arya was right. When did her wild little sister become so observant?

“We both have our scars, don’t we? He and I? Nothing will ever change until we can look past them.”

“Fear cuts deeper than swords, Sansa.”

“Now you sound like Bran.”

She shrugged. “No, that was Syrio. Will I see you later?” 

“Perhaps. I have so much to see to before Court and the feast tomorrow.”

“Alright then.” And she was gone as quickly as she came.

Sansa picked at her breakfast, and thought about what Arya had said. 

I took down the Bolton army, killed Ramsey, outmaneuvered Littlefinger, reunited the Northern houses to battle the dead, hosted a Queen, two dragons, and an army of thousands, yet can't stop this madness with Sandor Clegane that's been going on since I was a child? 

In their past, he would do something kind and brave for her. She would be filled with gratitude and thank him. He would then turn cold and harsh, pushing her away. Reminding her he was not one of the shining knights she was stupid enough to be infatuated with. And she would cry in bewilderment. Then they would seek each other out again. 

Over and over, the same pattern. 

And here they were doing it again, just with different stakes. They both knew there was something between them, and she saw now that there always had been. It started as the oddest, most unlikely friendship, then as she got older it changed and grew more... well, it changed. 

Fear cuts deeper than swords. Or knives.

She knew now what she had to do. She would have to be the one to stop being afraid first. 

She was no longer that child in the Red Keep, so she needed to stop behaving as if she was. If she really meant to control her own life, be respected as the Lady of Winterfell and now Wardeness of the North, she needed to confront her fears. All of them. 

With her purpose and plan taking shape, she rose and called for Evvie and an errand boy. 

It was going to be a very busy day.

*Sansa*

After she saw to the final arrangements in the kitchens and both Halls, she ran to her solar before any other tasks could delay her.

Harrol the errand boy had left the package of fabrics on her table. She opened it and drew a breath. 

They were perfect. 

She held them up to let them unfold, running her hand over the smooth satin and wispy cloth of silver. 

It had been so long since she had worn such sumptuous fabrics. Not since Kings Landing, with Cersei and Margery sending her gowns to wear.

But this wasn't going to be a Southern gown. It was going to be a declaration.

She worked on it the rest of the day, having a small lunch brought to her rather than eating in the Hall. 

As the daylight through the windows faded into dark, she moved her work closer to the hearth, had Evvie light every candle in the room, and kept sewing and stitching. 

Having a needle and thread in her hands was what soothed her most when she was upset or overwhelmed, and this time was no different. She felt better with each stitch. 

Some time later, there was a knock at her door. She set her work carefully aside, and went to ask who it was.

"It's me. Are you still alive in there?"

She unbarred the door and let her sister in.

"Jon said you didn't come down to dinner again tonight. Bran said you were 'shedding your skin'. Why does he always have to be so odd and cryptic? I figured it was best to just come up."

She laughed and returned to her work. 

"I'm making a new gown for the feast, and it has to be finished in time. I just have the wrap left to do. There's a lot of stitching."

"Another gown? You must have a hundred already Sansa."

"Its not just another gown. I'm preparing for battle."

Arya quirked her brow. "Battle?"

Sansa picked up the gown, gently shook it out, and draped it over her dress form for Arya to see. She added the wrap, and stood aside.

Her sister approached it, looking it over slowly. She felt the fabric and let it run through her fingers. Walked around to look at the back.

"Ah. Shedding your skin. You're a dangerous woman with a needle as well, sister. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. I thought about everything you said. About fear. What do you think?"

"It's going to be shocking. And it's very brave, Sansa. Now let's see if the man sitting alone at the Inn getting drunk tonight makes it back in time to see it."

"He's in town?"

"Yes. I rode in to pick a few things up, and spotted Stranger tied up at the tanner's this evening. Followed him to the Inn when I was done."

"And you spoke with him? What did he say?" 

"He thinks you're glad he's taking the Lordship. Which you are. He also thinks you're glad he'll be leaving. Which you aren't. So I'll tell you the same thing I told him once. See to it, and set it right."

Sansa ran her hand down over the gown.

"I will be brave first, Arya. Then it's up to him."

She finished the gown late that night, sometime around the hour of the Wolf, and fell into bed exhausted, fingers stiff and sore. 

The gown hung from the dress form like a ghost watching over her while she slept. 

*Sandor*

He would have to tell the Lady Stark she needed new nighttime guards at the front gate. The lazy fuckers were both nodded off, and he and Stranger rode in right between them. 

It was the hour of the Wolf, and he was piss drunk. 

He managed to get Stranger to the stables and at least pull off his tack before leaving him with half a sack of apples in his trough. 

Horse deserved them after seeing him home from Winter Town in the dark of night, without any help from his owner. 

Horse had more sense than he did.

Still holding the wineskin he had left the Inn with, he headed into the Keep with the intention of finding his rooms and a few hours of sleep.

He made it as far as the second floor landing, and decided he wanted to go up further. Up to the battlements.

Yes. He wanted to drink more wine up on the battlements. There would still be time for sleep after the skin was empty. 

Reaching his destination, he leaned against the parapet and looked out over Winterfell and the surrounding lands.

What he had said to the Little Bird was true, the North was growing on him. Right when he was about to go West. The bloody Gods and their bloody japes.

He needed to sit.

He turned his back to the scenery and slid down the wall, legs splayed out in front of him. 

Sansa. He couldn’t keep his mind from thinking of her. Thinking of touching her. Her hair floating across his arm when he held her to dance. The scent of her. How she smoothed her skirts when she was nervous and became bold when she drank too much wine.

Then those thoughts turned to how badly it cut him hearing she was pleased about his Lordship. His leaving. Expected him to ride off and start some family with some stranger in his bed.

But what did he expect? He should know better. Stupid man. Never thought he'd become just another fool for a woman. 

Just because she smiled and laughed, and wanted to dance with you, didn't mean she’d ever want you in her bed or mooning after her around her castle.

Her castle. 

She was not just some woman. She was Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. And he could never have her.

His Little Bird. Gods, she was so beautiful. Soft and sweet. But with a spine as hard as any true Northerner.

He should have stuck to serving wenches.

Serving wenches. May be he'd find that girl again tomorrow night, and this time let her keep her hand on his thigh. Let her put her hands wherever she bloody well liked, back in his rooms.

Didn't know if it was the wine, but it was almost warm up here tonight. 

Warm stones. Like the fountain bench in the courtyard where he had held his Little Bird. She was warm too. Her mouth would be the warmest. He should have kissed her. Would she have allowed it, or turned into a wolf and torn out his throat?

Fucking hells. He was drunk.

May be he'd make up new words for his house: 'Winter is Over'. Ha! He set himself off laughing at that. 

He and Stranger could share Clegane Keep. He and his horse together in the Hall. Fuck the stables. Fuck matches and wives. All a man needed was a good horse and good wine.

Talk to Stranger. 

That's what he should go do. Take a piss and go back to the stables. Have a talk with his horse. Who needs a woman when you have a horse that listens and knows when to shut the fuck up? 

His head swam as he stood and weaved his way back down the steps and to the stables, laughing to himself the whole way.


	10. North, And North Again

Chapter 10 – North, and North Again 

*Sansa*

She joined Jon and Bran in the solar for breakfast, and they discussed the schedule for the events today. Arya wasn't there. Probably not up yet. Or up and in the training yard already, sparring with Brienne. 

Court with the Queen would be held in the Small Hall just before sunset, and afterward the feast would begin. She had checked the Hall on her way to breakfast, and made sure all was ready.

Before Court there was to be a Queen's council meeting in the Library, which had somehow escaped much damage during the Long Night. She was anxious to hear of the Queen's plans for taking Kings Landing and the Red Keep. Even more so to hear of what she planned to do with Cersei Lannister. 

"You'll still be able to attend, Sansa?" Asked Jon. 

"Of course. I'm looking forward to it." She rose and gave Jon a quick kiss on the cheek. 

"Everything is ready in both Halls, as well as the kitchens and Library, so I think I'm going to spend some time in the Godswood before I have to dress."

"You're nothing if not efficient." Jon laughed.

As she leaned in to give Bran a kiss and take her leave, he looked up at her and smiled peacefully.

"I've seen your path Sansa. It leads North, and North again.” He said softly, just to her.

She smiled back at him and tried to hide that his remarks always unsettled her. 

“Then let’s hope Spring will be here soon, or I’ll freeze along the way.” She tried to jest.

She took her leave of them, and wished them both a good morning until she saw them later.

She tried not to think about what Bran had said as she walked to the Godswood. There was no time today to try to unravel his meaning. Arya had it right, why did he always have to be so cryptic? 

This time she avoided passing the training yard along her way. 

The quiet enveloped her once she entered the wood. The noise and bustle of the castle and feast preparations fell away. She took a deep breath. Smelled the green of the Wood. The dark soil and moss. The damp leaves. 

She needed this time to herself to calm her nerves and perhaps draw some strength from the Heart Tree. Her father always came here to be alone before and after his more difficult duties as Lord and Warden. She now understood why.

She didn't pray to the Seven anymore, and felt closer to the Old Gods now. She felt a sense of peace when she'd whisper her hopes and fears to the ancient Weirwood.

Sometimes it seemed almost as if it answered, when the breeze blew through its leaves a certain way.

As she approached the tree, she was startled to see someone in the pool. 

She quickly realized it was Sandor. 

He must have remembered her telling him of the hot springs that warmed the pool and decided on a bath here before Court. 

He was almost hip deep in the waters, with his back to her, hands on his head, slicking the water back from his hair. Soap bubbles floated around him on the water's dark surface and ran down his back. 

GODS.

This again. 

Her knees went wobbly at the sight of the water barely to his hips, the curve of his... and his arms up like that...  
The rush of desire for him she felt was almost overwhelming. 

She turned quickly to leave, so as not to disturb him. What she was feeling at this moment was nothing she wanted to share with the Old Gods.

"Little Bird." 

She immediately stiffened. Forced her face into her mask of indifference before she turned back around to him, and kept her eyes at a point just above his head as he watched her over his shoulder. The crimson blush that had overtaken her was unfortunately out of her control. 

Thank the Gods he hadn't turned himself around to face her.

"Pardons, Sandor. I thought to come pray alone for a bit, but won't disturb your bath. Again. I'll see you later this evening at Court. Excuse me"

At least she didn’t stammer this time.

She turned and left as gracefully as she could, and didn't look back to see his reaction. 

It turned out seeing him strengthened her resolve, and made her more sure of what she needed to show him and everyone else tonight. 

Her thoughts went to the gown hanging in her room, waiting for her.

*Sandor*

He woke up in Stranger's stall this morning. 

It wasn't the first time he ended a night of drinking with his horse.

He was glad Stranger didn't move around too much as he slept. 

Best part of the situation was scaring Tom the stable boy half out of his wits when he heard him wake up, growling and throwing the hay off himself, before rising like a Wight from the stall. 

He barked a laugh at that until his head split from the pain.

He thanked Stranger for not stepping on him in the night, and made his way to his rooms. 

The chamber boy was already in his room laying a fire. A plate of bread, cheese, and cold fowl was on the table next to a flagon of honeyed wine. 

He almost lost his stomach just to look at it. 

"Boy! What’s your name?”

The poor lad jumped a foot. “Trey, m'Lord.”

“Fine. Enough with the fire Trey, its warm enough in here. And take this food back to the kitchens."

“Please.” He added as an afterthought.

“Yes, m'Lord.”

Now there were two boys he had scared into squeaks this morning. 

Poor Trey recovered from his shock well enough, and picked up the plate and wine, anxious to get out of the room and away from the still-half-drunk giant with hay in his hair, no doubt.

"Leave the wine."

It was too sweet, but after a few sips it settled his stomach and calmed the pounding between his ears. 

All he wanted now was a few hours sleep on the featherbed. 

He finished the wine in a gulp, and started to pull off his boots when the boy reappeared with a large wrapped package under one arm and a bucket of steaming water sloshing in the other. 

Fuck it all. Should have barred the door. 

He sighed deeply. The sight of the package reminded his wine-sick brain that it was already midday, and of what was happening later this evening. 

He sighed again, and wiped his face with his hands.

"Boy, Trey, forget the bath. I don't fit in it anyway. I'll go bathe in the Godswood pool. Just bring me soap and a drying cloth."

The boy left the package on the table, and sloshed his way back out with the bucket. 

Sandor opened the wrapping, and inspected his new clothes within. Milly the seamstress did nice work. There were three light grey tunics of a fine smooth cloth, sturdy but soft, and three of a thicker material the color of wheat for use under his mail and armor. 

The four sets of breeches were all a deep charcoal grey, almost black, again with half of them a smoother, softer material, and the others sturdier. 

He chuckled when he saw that she had included four pairs of the small clothes and socks he forgot to even ask her for. Smart girl.

At the bottom was the new jerkin. Her gift to him. 

It was probably the nicest piece of clothing he had ever had. 

It was of the softest black leather, smooth at the sleeves and quilted with silver studding in body. She had added muted silver clasps down the front instead of ties. A stout belt of black leather with the same silver-studded trim completed the gift. 

It was simple, but a handsome tunic to wear at Court, and not too fancy to wear ahorse. Milly DID know exactly what would suit him.

He shook his head at it, touched by her kindness. He could also see where the tanner's wife had a hand in the belt and metal work. 

These Northerners were good people. He saw again where the Little Bird had learned her kindness. 

Grabbing a new tunic, breeches, pair of small clothes, and socks from the package, he took the soap and drying cloth the boy had brought, and left for the Godswood. 

He was halfway down the hall when he turned back for the wine.

Feeling almost like an intruder, he found his way into the wood. He could see why the Little Bird liked it so well. It was shaded and quiet. The smell of damp earth and trees filled his nose. You could almost forgot that you were still within the castle walls here.

It was a calming place. He needed calming today. Just the mention of attending Court recalled too many thoughts of his days in Kings Landing. It was a different ruler, but the mummers show of it never seemed to change.

He didn't know quite what to make of these Old Gods, or the great white tree scowling and bleeding at him, although he supposed it wasn't much different than the statues in the Septs looking down at everyone. 

The pool was steaming into the cool air, just like she said it would be. It did look magical. 

He folded the new clothes and the cloth over a branch, stripped off his dirty, hay-covered clothes, and told the tree to keep its eyes to itself. 

A low groan left his throat as he lowered himself into the pool. It was wonderfully warm, large enough to swim around in, and deep enough to dunk himself. He felt every ache in his body ease, and his muscles relax as the water surrounded him.

He might just stay here all day. Fuck Courts and Queens and Lordships. This had to be one of the Seven Heavens.

Wash first, then soak like a fish was his plan. Holding his breath he dunked himself under the water, amazed at the feeling of being in a giant bath that seemed built just for him. He soaped and dunked, and then soaped again for good measure. When he sunk below the water to rinse, he held his breath just to see how long he could. 

As he came up for air, slicking the soapy water from his hair and out of his eyes, he heard someone behind him and turned to look.

"Little Bird."

She was standing a good distance back from the pool, but still under the red leaves of the tree. Her face looked all angles in pale marble in the shade, except for the blush flushing her cheeks. They almost matched the leaves.

"Pardons, Sandor. I thought to come and pray alone for a bit, but won't disturb your bath. Again. I'll see you later this evening at Court. Excuse me."

And then she turned and was gone so quickly that he rubbed his eyes, thinking he may have imagined her there in the first place.


	11. Wolves, a Raven, and a Crow

Chapter 11 – Wolves, A Raven, and a Crow.

*Sansa*

Back in her chambers, she had Evvie fill her bath, and tried to put Sandor's bath in the Godswood out of her mind.

She needed to stay focused, today would be a very important day.

But she kept seeing him rise from the misty water, arms stretching up to slick back his black hair, the soapy water running down the muscles of his back... He looked like a Northern King rising from the pool as if in a song… 

Bloody Hells, get a grip, Sansa. She could almost hear Arya’s voice scolding her. 

For the two years she was with him in the summer heat of Kings Landing, she never saw more than his hands and his face. Now here in the frozen winter of Winterfell, she'd seen him nearly naked three times already. 

For all the care he took to brush his long hair over to cover his scars, he was quite unconcerned with covering the rest of himself, she laughed to herself.

She shook her head to clear away her wandering thoughts.

As Evvie washed her hair, she instead tried to concentrate on the Queen’s upcoming council meeting. 

She intended to listen and gather as much information as she could about what the Queen was planning next, and how it could effect the North. 

She had learned well enough from her time with Littlefinger; information was power, and it was now her responsibilityto use that information for the sake of her people.

Once she was made Wardeness later today, she knew one of her first tasks would have to be reestablishing the Northern houses that the war had rendered extinct, or nearly so. Alongside that was figuring how best to settle the Free Folk who chose to stay here on this side of the Wall. 

Once she was bathed and dried, Evvie helped her dress.

She had chosen her gown for the council meeting and Court with care.

It was one she had made herself during her time in the Vale. There was little else to do there, so she had the time and Littlefinger's coin to be a bit indulgent with it. It was of black brocade, simply cut, but with a much lower neckline than she usually wore. As Evvie tightened the laces, she saw that her figure had filled out some since the last time she wore it. She had meticulously adorned the gown with small raven feathers throughout the bodice, and longer feathers at the shoulders. Her wings.

It was the first gown she had made with the knowledge that she hated the game of politics, but would need to play it anyway to survive. 

This gown had taught her that what a lady wore could be more than pretty, it could also be powerful. It seemed appropriate to wear it again today.

After she dressed, she sat for Evvie to do her hair. She asked for it down and loose, with just the two small braids at her temple to hold back the rest.

Wrapping and securing her silver circle and chain necklace around her throat, she took a final look in the glass. 

She poured herself a cup of wine, and sat sipping it to calm her nerves. Before she could finish it there was a knock at her door. It was her sister. 

"I see you're ready to go?"

"Yes. And you finally wore the the new black outfit, Arya!" 

It was the finest of several outfits Sansa designed, and had Milly make for her sister a few months ago, shortly after her return to Winterfell. Arya hadn’t worn it until today.

Her sister looked splendid in the new soft black leather boots and slim black breeches, with the longer, more feminine split tunic over them, in the same supple black leather. It was embellished with charcoal suede, silver clasps, and Direwolf embroidery. She had even tied her hair up in a soft knot at her nape, and wore a silver pin to secure it.

"Like it? I figured I should finally wear it and not look like a stable boy in Court. I like the black. Like you and Jon. I know the Stark colors are grey, but for all we've survived I think your choice of black is more appropriate. And you’re wearing raven feathers today. Bran will take that as a nod."

She laughed. "You look lovely. And my feathers came way before Bran’s feathers.”

"The Starks; two Wolves, a Raven, and a Crow." She smiled. “Well, former Crow, now turned Dragon, and soon to be Wildling."

“Free Folk. Free Man? I’ll have to ask Tormund the correct nomenclature, but they don't like 'Wildling". Won't do to offend them. But I didn’t know you were coming to the council meeting?”

Arya shrugged with her usual indifference. 

“I don’t trust the dragon Queen when it comes to Jon, so I want to know what’s going on. Nothing against her personally, but I don’t trust anyone anymore to make decisions in regards to our family, except our family. So I told Jon to let her know I’d be attending. Seems being the hero that saved the living has some benefits after all.”

"I'm glad you'll be there. Shall we go then?"

*Sansa*

They all met over the map table in the Library; The Queen and her army Captains, Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Bran, Arya and herself. 

The meeting focused on the Queen’s plans to march South. 

Sansa listened quietly as they discussed the Queen intending to fly to Dragonstone with Jon tonight, right after she held Court. Her advisers, all but Tyrion and Grey Worm, would leave tonight as well and follow in the wheelhouse. She planned to remain there until her armies reached Kings Landing. Her dragons still needed to heal from injuries they had taken during the Long Night, and didn’t seem to like hunting in the cold of the North. Their mother wanted them healthy and well fed before she attacked Cersei. 

Sansa knew Jon and the Queen atop those two enormous dragons would defeat Cersei easily. She had just seen for herself the destruction they could wreak. Mere men in armor, trebuchets, and even stone castles were no match for them. Cersei would hopefully be smart enough to surrender once she saw she had no chance of winning. 

She smiled thinking of Cersei Lannister surrendering, and then attempting to seduce two dragons. Turns out not all of her lessons to Sansa were practical.

What she was most concerned about was how many Northern men the Queen expected to take South. The North couldn’t spare many after all they’d just suffered through. 

Thankfully, when she inquired, Jon advised that he and the Queen had discussed it, and felt no men need be taken from the Northern armies or Free Folk, unless they volunteered to go. 

They felt the number of Dothraki and Unsullied they had left would be sufficient to keep the peace on the ground once they took the castle from the air.

She was relieved to hear this. She needed to focus on rebuilding the North, not losing more men.

Also needing to be restored and repopulated was The Gift and the abandoned castles of the Night's Watch. She and Jon had discussed offering these lands to any Free Folk that wished to remain within the borders and rule of the North, and Westeros. It would take several years to return these abandoned lands to fruitful farms and towns. 

Once the dragon Queen sat the Throne, it was crucial to the North that the Crown help support an alliance with the Free Folk. An alliance she as Wardeness would need to forge. 

She saw no point in bringing that up now though, with the Queen focused on Kings Landing. She needed time to get things here in order first anyway. 

In the end, it was decided that Jon would returned to Winterfell from Dragonstone in a few days, and the armies would begin their march on King's Landing within a fortnight of his return, with Jon, Tyrion, and Grey Worm leading them.

They all kept glancing to Bran to see if he had anything to advise or foretell, but he remained silent throughout the meeting. 

Tyrion was quiet as well. She knew he was loyal to his dragon Queen, but Cersei was his sister, and however much he hated her, he'd want her taken unharmed if possible. 

With the timeframe now in place, she knew that once the Queen's army marched, she would need to gather the Lords of the North and Free Folk leaders together, and form their own Northern Council. 

The meeting was ended and they made their way back to the Keep to attend the Queen's Court and proceed with the knightings and bestowment of Lordships.

Those receiving the honors and their familes had been assembled into the Small Hall while the Council met, and were now waiting for the formal entrance and Court to begin. 

There were no thrones at Winterfell. The North hadn't seen it's own king in over five centuries. Instead a small ornate table and chair were set on the Small Hall’s dias for the Queen, and similar chairs set on either side for the her Hand and advisors. Off to the right would stand the Starks, and to the left the Queen's various army Captains. 

Sansa was glad for the more informal arrangement. She still bore too many terrible memories of attending Court in the Red Keep and kneeling before Jeoffrey atop the vast, ugly, Iron Throne.

When the Council members reached the Small Hall they paused for the guards to open the closed double doors.

She took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself. This would be would be the last time she was announced only as Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. When she left this room she would add the title and responsibilities of Wardeness of the North. 

What she was more nervous about though, was the announcement of Lord Sandor Clegane of Clegane Keep.

Maester Paul was kind enough to play the part of Herald today. Ironic, since he was the softest-spoken man she had ever met. But he rose to the occasion, and even added a bit of a flourish to his task.

After the Queen and her people had been announced and seated came Lord Jon Snow. Maester Paul announced The Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell next.

She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and and proceeded to her place next to Jon. 

Bran and Arya were announced last, with a bit of a stir going through the crowd as Maester Paul heralded them "The Raven Brandon Stark, and The Lady Arya Stark."

Her brow quirked up as she watched her sister wheel Bran in and place themselves next to her. Arya replied with a roll of her eyes.

'Raven', as a title? She'd need to find out what was going on with that later.

There were only about four score attendees gathered, and she allowed herself a brief look at Sandor as she scanned the room to nod her greetings at everyone.

She was taken aback a moment to see him wearing new clothes. He must have seen to having them made when he was in town the other day. 

He had chosen greys and black in place of the browns and greens he used to favor. The jerkin he wore was lovely and very well made; it had to be Milly's work. He truly looked the part of a Lord. 

Her heart clenched and a flutter ran through her stomach to see him dressed so finely and looking so tall and handsome. When she thought of him in the pool again, she quickly pushed the image aside, lest she begin blushing like a fool again. 

She recognized the impassive look he wore, the look he had perfected over years of standing in the Red Keep behind Princes, Kings, and Queens. It was a look she had first learned to wear there as well.

She remembered all those times she had to enter the Throne Room in Kings Landing, the knot of tension in her belly only easing once his eyes would find hers. He always new exactly where she was, and it would be the briefest glance, unnoticeable to anyone else, but a comfort to her.

He didn't meet her eyes now though, and all she could do was hope for the best when the Queen called his name.

At her side she saw Arya exchange an uncomfortable glance with Gendry, and recalled her sister had just rejected the poor boy’s marriage proposal the other night. 

Perhaps in time Arya might change her mind. He seemed like a good match for her, as he clearly loved her just as she was. Not an easy feat when it came to Arya.

She turned her attention to the Queen as she rose to speak, welcoming all, and opening the Court . 

Sansa whispered a small prayer to herself for Lord Sandor Clegane.


	12. Three Lords and a Lady

Chapter 12 - Three Lords and a Lady

*Sandor*

The Page had shown him to the front row of Court attendees, so he had a good view of everyone as they were announced and took their places. He'd have a good view from anywhere really, except from behind the GreatJon Umber. 

Was odd watching from the audience rather than from behind a throne.

He was glad he thought of getting the new clothes, and didn’t look like a trampled beggar for once. Glad for Milly and the jerkin.

Listen to you, you already sound like simpering Lord. 

The dragon Queen entered first. 

It still struck him what a tiny thing she was, dressed in black and red with enough braids in her hair to keep three handmaidens busy for hours. 

The Imp waddled in next, followed by Varys, Missandei, and Grey Worm.

Lord Jon Snow was announced and took his place. He may be a Lord now, and before that a King, but he looked as uncomfortable in Court as Sandor felt. Good lad. 

Sandor had seen Jon Snow lead and fight beyond the Wall, and though he was just a spit of a man, he fought harder and with more tenacity than all the knights he knew combined. 

Then the Little Bird was announced and came down the aisle. It never mattered if he was angry with her or not, seeing her always hitched his chest and made it a little harder to breathe. 

He’d never tire of looking at her.

She was in a black dress he had never seen before. It wasn’t one of her usual get-ups of leather and fur, this one had bloody feathers, but it also wasn’t the satins and silvers the seamstress spoke of.

What it was though, was cut too fucking low, and the sight of the tops of her breasts made his brains go numb. 

He wasn't standing in Court anymore. He didn't know where he was, but in his mind he was grazing the tops of those breasts with his fingers and lips.

He saw her smile and nod to the others in the room, but he couldn't meet her eyes, afraid she'd see exactly what he was thinking.

The Little Wolf rolled in the other brother, Brandon Stark, who was announced as a Raven. 

What in the Seven Hells did that even mean? A Raven. 

He remembered the boy from his first visit to Winterfell years ago, just a little shit at the time, running around and clacking wooden swords with Prince Tommen in the yard. That was before his fall.

The boy before them all now seemed sullen and odd. Sandor had heard that he had the greensight, went beyond the Wall and became some sort of seer. Could control animals. A wharg they called him. Fuck if he knew the truth of it. 

But just like a Stark, the boy didn’t lack for courage. Planted himself in the Godswood to lure the Night King during the Long Night. Offered himself up like a bloody sacrifice. An injured mouse just waiting for the cat to come along. 

The dragon Queen rose and opened Court, while he turned his attention back to the Little Bird and her feathers. 

Deep in his own thoughts again, buried somewhere between her pale throat and the neckline of her dress, he heard nothing of what the Queen was saying until the name Gendry Waters was called. 

He watched in shock as the blacksmith boy was suddenly named a Baratheon Lord, Lord of Storms End, and given a fat purse of gold.

Well fucking hells. He had been King Robert's bastard all this time. He should have seen it. Was plain as day now that he knew.

He caught the Little Wolf's eyes and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged and rolled her eyes. He would have laughed if he wasn't standing in front of the Queen next.

"Sandor Clegane."

He stepped forward and nodded his respects.

"Your Grace."

"You are being recognized for your bravery and service to the Crown in both the expedition North of the Wall with Lord Snow, and during the Long Night. We were fortunate to have a warrior such as yourself fighting on our side."

She paused, and he wasn't sure if he should say anything, so he remained silent.

"But you weren't always on our side. It's well known that for most of your life you served House Lannister, and were the Sworn Shield of the Usurper Joffrey Baratheon, or should I say Joffrey Lannister.”

Where the Seven Hells was she going with this?

"Yet I'm told that despite this, you put yourself at considerable risk and came to the aid of Lady Sansa Stark on many occasions while she was a Lannister prisoner in Kings Landing. My own Hand Tyrion told me you chose to go back into a bloody riot to save her from being raped and murdered, when the Usurper himself ordered she be left for dead. Lady Stark considers you worthy of her utmost trust and friendship, and owes you a debt of gratitude.”

He looked at the Imp, who gave him a nod.

What the fuck was all this? Any sort of praise made him bristle. 

The Little Bird only looked ahead, her face calm and composed, as the Queen continued on. 

"And Lady Arya Stark has told me that without you, she would have been raped or murdered several times over after escaping Kings Landing, if not for your protection. You also saved her life during the Long Night, which allowed her to go on to kill the Night King. She too considers you worthy of her utmost trust and friendship, and owes you a debt of gratitude."

Well fuck all. The Little Wolf. 

Now she was giving him her very best smirk. Little shit.

The others in the room had been nodding and murmuring words of acknowledgment while the Queen spoke.

"The Crown therefore would name you Lord Sandor Clegane, of Clegane Keep in the West, and increase its lands and holdings by double. You will also receive a purse of one hundred thousand Gold Dragons. Lastly, the Crown would like to extend the Stark's debt of gratitude to you, and welcome you to attend me if you ever have need of anything."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Was all he could manage. 

He was glad to keep his head down, and step back into his place. The worst was over. 

Hearing the things he had done like any of it was something heroic was a jape. 

They left out the parts where he couldn't protect the Little Bird from being beaten, held a knife to her throat, failed to rescue her from Kings Landing, kidnapped the Little Wolf to ransom, hit her with an axe, and only went beyond the Wall and to Winterfell because of Dondarrion, Thoros, and his own guilt.

Now he was the Lord of a place he never wanted to see again, possessed a fortune he had no use for, and had to leave his Little Bird. None of it felt like a reward. It was a punishment. 

There were only two more Lords made after him.

Ser Davos Seaworth became Lord Seaworth, with expanded lands and a royal purse, and Jon Snow's fat friend Samwell Tarly was released of his service to the Night’s Watch, and made Lord Samwell Tarly of Horn Hill, his ancestral home. Apparently the dragon Queen had her beasts torch his father and brother a while back. 

Fucking dragons.

It gave him pause to think that the fat lad planned to marry a Wildling girl he had already had one babe with, and was now expecting another. House Tarly was no minor house. It should have been a scandal, yet it didn't seem to be.

The six bloody Knights made were all second or third sons of Northern houses. If this were any other part of Westeros, every boy and man who fought during the Long Night would have been clamoring for a Ser before their name. Here in the North, they didn’t care much for knights.

Another thing he liked about this place.

Luckily the ‘Sers' were done and over with in one lot. Winterfell lacking pomp and Septons, the words and knightings were brief. 

He needed to get out of this room and find some wine. But the Queen wasn't done just yet.

"We have one last appointment. As you know Lord Jon Snow will be marching with my armies to Kings Landing to help me take the throne from Cersei Lannister, and restore the kingdom to its rightful Queen. Lord Snow has made it known to me that as he is now in service to the Crown, he wishes the passing of the title and responsibilities of the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to his sister, The Lady Sansa Stark, and the Crown is in agreement.”

"Thank the Gods, she's much easier on the eyes than you Snow!" Japed the GreatJon, and the crowd laughed.

He saw Jon Snow smile warmly over at his sister, and she returned the smile with just as much love before stepping forward and thanking the Queen. 

"Thank you Jon for your trust and confidence, and thank you, Your Grace for the opportunity to serve the Crown and the North."

A cheer of “Stark!” and “Wardeness!” went up.

These Lords loved her. She deserved to be their Wardeness. This was her North and these her people. They knew if it wasn’t for The Starks of Winterfell, and the bastard Stark who was a Snow, they’d all be dead by now. Or undead.

His heart felt even heavier knowing that as a Western Lord now, he'd never be a part of any of it. 

He'd be leaving these decent people that had accepted him so easily and without judgment, and traveling back into his past, the very place he spent his whole life trying to forget. 

At long last, it was done, and the Queen rose to take her leave.

“I’d like to bid you my farewells, as Lord Snow and I will be flying to Dragonstone this evening to prepare for our last battle. He will return in three days time to mobilize my army, who will march in a fortnight. It's an honor to now know the fine men and women of the North and the Free Folk. You have my deepest respect and gratitude. I look forward to serving the realm as your rightful Queen and thank you for your service and fealty as well. Now please, go enjoy the feasting, drinking, and dancing the Lady Stark has prepared for you all in the Great Hall.”

With that, she and her people departed, and the Starks followed.

As he made his way to the doors all he could think on was that this was his last night at Winterfell.

Once he and Stranger rode West in the morning, he may never lay eyes on the North or his Little Bird again.


	13. Satin and Silver

Chapter 13 - Satin and Silver

*Sansa*

She left the Small Hall, and was stopped numerous times to receive kind words and congratulations from her Lords.

Her Lords. She would do her best to deserve their trust and loyalty. 

The Umbers kept her the longest, the GreatJon ready to discuss every concern and suggestion he had going forward right there standing in the corridor, while his three sons looked on apologetically.

Once she was finally able to politely excuse herself, she headed straight for her chambers. 

Evvie was ready and waiting to help her change for the feast. 

First she was helped out of the feathered gown and her shift, and into the smooth new small clothes she had made. She had been a bit indulgent here as well, and made them of the same satin so as to be almost invisible underneath the gown.

Evvie slipped the gown off the form, lowered it gently over her head, and smoothed it down the rest of the way to her feet.

"Do you want to see it in the floor glass before I fix your hair m’Lady”?

“No, I’ll wait till everything is done.” She wanted to see the whole effect of the gown and hair together. 

Sansa undid her braids as Evvie prepared brushes and pins.

Walking to her table to pour herself a goblet of wine, she could feel how the satin glided against her bare skin underneath. The feeling almost made her blush. 

The gown was a double layer of satin, the deepest black she had ever seen, but with a sheen that reflected the light, making it look almost liquid. 

The bodice was made from two wide lengths crossing over her chest in the fashion of a Northern cloak, wrapping around her neck and waist, and leaving her back bare. It wasn’t deeply cut, but darted to accentuate her breasts. The skirt was cut slimmer than any skirt she had ever worn before, and hugged her every curve as it fell to her toes in front, and was cut to pool behind her. 

The thinnest, most transparent spun cloth of silver was more accent than wrap, and was worn draped loosely across her lower back and tucked into the crooks of her arms, flowing to the floor.

Evvie wove her hair into three braids that wrapped around her head and wound up to a small silver clasp.

Once all was done, she stood before the large glass.

"You look beautiful m'Lady. This gown, I've never seen it's like." Evvie breathed.

She could tell Evvie was a bit concerned for her though, perhaps questioning her judgement. She kept darting looks at the gown, and back up at Sansa with a wobbly smile.

"Thank you Evvie. You did a wonderful job with my hair. I haven't worn it all up in so long. I love it."

Once Evvie was dismissed, she stood in front of the glass again. 

The gown was perfect, and her hair piled up high and off her neck created an expanse of white skin flowing to her waist in back. 

She knew she looked beautiful, and would draw every eye in the Hall. That was her plan. But her heart was racing. 

She poured herself another glass of wine, but only sipped at it while she waited for Arya. Wouldn’t do to arrive at the feast already wobbling in her slippers. 

Her sister walked into her solar a few minutes later, and stopped in her tracks.

"GODS."

"What to do you think?"

"You look absolutely incredible Sansa."

"Thank you. But I'm so nervous now that it’s time."

"You know what Father would say, 'the only time you can be brave is when you're afraid'. It's going to be fine. Better than fine. You're going to turn every head in the Hall tonight. You may even break a few necks."

She took Arya's arm and laughed. "Let's hope not. I don't want to kill anyone, just show them who I am now.”

“You know, you may just kill Clegane. He’s either going to rage, or drop like a stone.”

She sighed. “Sandor most of all needs to understand. Everything is different, but it's alright.”

Arya smiled up at her. "Well, no sense waiting then. Armed with simply a gown and a their Needles, the Stark sisters shall rule the North. Now let's go, Lady Wardeness."

*Sandor*

He was taken aback by how many of the Northern Lords stopped to slap him on the back and congratulate him on his Lordship. 

Too bad he didn't want any part of it. Might have been nice otherwise.

He wanted to skip the whole feast, he was in no mood, but as usual his desire for good food and wine won out over drinking himself to sleep alone in his room or passed out in Stranger's stall again. He'd be alone and on the road soon enough, may as well enjoy one last good meal.

Truth be told, he also wanted this last evening to just sit and look at his Little Bird. Memorize her face, her eyes, that hair. The way she smiled and held her head.

When he approached the doors to the Hall, the guard stopped him. "Lord Clegane." He nodded in greeting and then nodded sideways towards a Page at his elbow looking up expectantly. 

What was this shit now?

"Lord Clegane." The Page bobbed a bow. "This way if you please."

The boy led him to the front of the Hall, and to a second table raised just below the High Table. A few of the just-made Sers were already seated there.

Bloody Hells. 

He just wanted to eat and drink in peace, not be on display. He should have left when he had the chance. 

Gendry was also being shown to the table, so he took the seat next to him. The boy looked uncomfortable with the situation as well.

"Lord Clegane." 

"Lord Blacksmith"

Gendry laughed. "I'm glad you came. Don't know any of these others besides Davos, and he already left to sail home. Said he missed his wife. Don't like sitting up here with everyone gawking at me."

"Aye. But you better get used to it. Storms End. You're now Lord of the largest house in the East, and the last of the Baratheons.”

"You may have to tell me who I'll be Lording over. I don't even know. Whole thing feels like a jape still. I'd feel more myself back in the forge hitting something with my hammer."

"Your Little Wolf can help you. She's castle-raised and maester-trained, though she may kill you for bringing that up. Knows all her politics and courtesies when she has to though."

"She's not mine. Doesn't want to be. I asked her to marry me the other night. Come to Storms End. Be my Lady. She said no."

The boy looked miserable. That made him a bit happier. He quirked a smile at him.

"Of course she said no, you dumb cunt. If you had any sense, you wouldn't have asked her in the first place. The Little Wolf would sooner cut your throat than let you make her some Lady wife."

He clapped the boy on the shoulder and poured them both some wine.

"I guess I knew that. But I thought I could change her mind. I thought she might love me."

"She may love you, but she'll never marry you and come sit in your castle. Let her be, and when she wants you, she'll come to you, and you'll take whatever she's willing to give. Trust me."

The boy nodded solemnly as Sandor advised, "Best just get drunk tonight and leave the rest for tomorrow. That’s my plan.”

So they drank and watched the Hall fill.

Tormund came right up to their table when he arrived. 

"Well just look at you two fancy fuckers now!" He roared, laughing. "You ever get tired of these Southern ways, you come up North. The real North. None of this fancy shit there with the Free Folk. Ha!"

Once the Hall was full they had to go through the bloody announcements again for the High Table before they could eat.

Maybe he would just go join the Free Fuckers. 

There was no dragon Queen and Lord Snow tonight, so after the Imp was announced and seated, the herald called the Little Wolf and Brandon Stark.

"The Lady Arya Stark and The Raven Brandon Stark of Winterfell."

The Little Wolf looked nice outfitted in her fine new black leathers, and had even fixed up her hair. He gave her a nod of approval as she came to her seat and looked his way. She must have been wearing the outfit at Court as well, but he was too busy watching the new Wardeness to notice.

Gendry made a sad little noise at his side watching her. "She looks beautiful tonight, doesn't she Clegane?" 

He had to chuckle. Mooncalf was in deep over the Little Wolf. 

Although he was the pot calling the kettle black, wasn't he? They were both idiots.

Only the Little Bird was left to announce, and then they could finally eat. The third cup of wine was already hitting his empty stomach hard.

"The Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and Wardeness of the North"

She entered the large double doorway and began walking down the center of the Hall. 

His eyes went wide and he choked on his wine. A murmur went up from the tables as they stood in honor and she walked slowly by. 

"Whoa." Gendry breathed out appreciatively next to him.

The gown. There it was. 

Like nothing he'd ever seen her wear before. 

With every step she took it moved against her hips and the long length of her legs. Like the blackest water under moonlight flowing over her. Her pale arms bare. The silver wrap covering nothing, but catching the candlelight and throwing it in every direction. 

And her hair. He had never seen all of that hair piled up off her long white neck. 

Others take him.

As she approached the High Tables his mouth went dry. She was staring straight ahead at him, holding his eyes, step after liquid step. He was sure the whole room could hear his heart hammering out of his chest. 

He rose a beat later than the others at his table as she neared. Couldn’t even feel his fucking legs. 

The murmuring of those she had passed was queer though, and although he noticed it, with Sansa staring into his eyes and looking like that, he could only focus on her.

She then turned her back to him to address the Hall in welcome.

And his blood went cold. 

He had to lean over and put his hands down on the table to steady himself.  
Closed his eyes for a moment as his vision went black, then red. 

He lifted his head after a moment to look back up at her speaking to the Hall. 

He heard none of her words. He could only stare at her back. The wrap now framing the countless raised scars running from between her shoulder blades to where the small of her back disappeared into the satin.

A rage unlike any he's ever felt before overtook him. His hands shook, and his breaths were coming out in jagged rasps. It took all the will in him to remain still. 

She turned back to the two High Tables once she had finished speaking, and caught his eyes again before taking her seat.

The Hall was clapping and cheering at whatever she had said, but all he heard was the roar of his blood rushing in his ears.

The guests quieted and sat, and the servers began passing around the trays of food and bringing more wine.

He had to get away before he lost control.

Overturned the table. 

Smashed everything in the room. 

The red haze still veiling his eyes, he stood and left the Hall. 

He saw nothing and no one as he stormed out, but both the Little Bird and her sister had been watching him.


	14. Scars

Chapter 14 - Scars

*Sansa*

She had no idea how she made it to her seat at the High Table without her legs giving out from under her. 

Countless times she had been called to the Throne Room to stand before Joffrey and the entire court. She’d had to walk through the parted courtiers all staring and snickering at the traitor’s daughter, to stand alone as Joffrey rained down humiliations and had his Kings Guard beat her. She had even been stripped to the waist before the court.

This had been even harder. 

These were her people now, so she needed them to see. Needed Sandor to see. She didn't want to hide behind secrets and shame anymore and ignore what she was now, what had transformed her.

She knew of the whispers. The tales both true and false, of what Ramsey Bolton had done to her. 

Ramsey, Theon, Miranda, and every other witness to her torture was now dead, so she could have buried her scars in modest dress and furs, and never spoken of it again. Kept the truth where only she could see it.

But these scars were now a part of her story. And she wanted the story to be real and true.

She needed to show her people what she had suffered, but had the will and strength to survive, to win back her family, Winterfell, and the North. 

The gown represented the beauty she saw moving forward, and the pain and scars left behind. 

Somehow she knew after the shock, her Northerners would understand why she needed to do this.

Like those times before, all those other walks, alone in a sea of people and afraid, Sandor was standing at the end of the journey, watching her.

She met his eyes and didn't look away. Couldn't. She needed them to keep her moving. Back then it was day after day, tonight it was step after step.

What she found in his stare as she walked towards him was a riot of shock, adoration, lust, sadness, and longing. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but knew she needed to be strong, and finish what she had started. 

When she turned to address the Hall, she knew what he was seeing. It was exactly what she had intended him to see. He alone knew the power of these scars.

So she steeled her spine, raised her chin, and addressed the hall.

"Welcome. Tonight we celebrate not just a few of the heroes that helped win the war against the dead, but all of you. As the Lady of Winterfell and now Wardeness of the North, I personally extend to every man, woman, and child here my gratitude, and pledge to always serve you faithfully and honorably, as my father once did. Every one of us here has suffered, lost family and friends, and endured so much to take back what is ours. And we succeeded. Going forward I hope to work with all of you, both Westerosi and Free Folk, to ensure the peace and prosperity of the North, here and beyond the Wall. The whole North!.”

A serving girl approached and handed her a goblet of wine. As she raised it high, everyone in the Hall raised theirs as well.

“To the North!” she toasted.

“TO THE NORTH!” they cried in a deafening return. “TO THE NORTH!”

As the Hall clapped and cheered, tears of joy sprung to her eyes. She nodded to them all in thanks. When she turned back to take her seat, she caught Sandor's eyes again, and all that was in them now was rage and pain.

She hadn't wanted to hurt him this way, but this needed to be done.

There could never be anything real between them until he saw her scars too, and that she was refusing to be lessened or defined by them, refusing to be afraid anymore. Even of her love for him. 

Now it was his turn to choose fear, or to fight for what he wanted. She couldn’t do it for him. 

He had stormed out of the Hall shortly after she was seated, and she wasn't surprised. She glanced over at her sister who had been watching him too. 

Arya met her eyes with a question, and she nodded her consent, watching as her sister rose and went after him. 

*Sandor*

He charged blindly out of the Hall, and ended up in the armory. Instinct driving him towards weapons. He want to kill someone, anyone, everyone. But there was no one left to kill, so he ended up beating the boards off the armory walls, welcoming the pain as his knuckles tore and bled. 

Once his need for violence spent itself, he bent his hands to his knees, hung his head, and tried to catch his breath. 

His tears and her back swam before his eyes. The scars. All those scars. How badly that monster had hurt her. Beat and tore and cut her flesh. His Little Bird. The only person in this shit world he loved.

He had stood on a hilltop in the Quiet Isle, digging graves when he should have been in the North killing every Bolton he could find before they could lay a finger on her.

He didn’t understand how anyone could do that to her. He had killed countless times, it was what he was trained to do. It was all he was trained to do. But what he saw on her back wasn’t killing, it was torture. It was meant to break her, one cut at a time. To strip away everything she was.

He stood again and kicked another board from the wall, then slid down it to the dirt floor. “FUCK!” He growled, choking with a sob of frustration, and banged another board loose with the back of his head. Put his face in his hands. 

That's where the Little Wolf found him. 

"You don't hide very well Clegane. All I had to do was follow the sound of the Armory being smashed to bits."

He stood and rounded on her. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?"

She shrugged. "Wasn't my story to tell." 

Her calm made him want to tear down what was left of the walls.

"Gods be damned! I failed her! I should have never left her the night of the Blackwater. Should have just thrown her over my shoulder and taken her, even if she screamed and fought.”

"But you didn’t. You respected her. You didn’t fail her. She chose to stay, and you accepted it. That's more than any other man has ever done for her. Honored her wishes. Neither of you could have known what would happen afterwards."

He ran his hands over his face and sat heavily on a bench, hanging his head nearly to his knees. The Little Wolf just watched him silently for bit.

"If you still feel like you failed her back then, perhaps you should make sure you don't fail her now."

He couldn’t keep the pain and confusion he felt out of his voice. 

"I would do anything she asked. Anything. But I don't know what she wants from me, Little Wolf, I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now."

She came to stand next to him, and put her hands on his shoulders. It was such an unexpected gesture from her, he looked up in surprise. 

"Yes, you do. And if she can be this brave, so can you Clegane.”

And she turned and left him there.


	15. Dessert

Chapter 15 - Dessert

*Sansa*

Throughout the meal she could feel the eyes on her, glancing, sometimes staring. That was fine. It was to be expected. 

They would talk about what they saw, it was only natural. But they would then come to understand, and move past it. That's all she wanted of them.

Already some of the eyes spoke of more than just pity, she now saw solidarity, respect, and fealty.

Arya returned to the table a little bit later, and shrugged her shoulders at Sansa's inquiring glance. 

She would just have to give him time. He could return to her, stay away, ride off on Stranger for the West this very moment... the choice was his now. It had to be his. He had to come to her.

Once the meal was finished, and everyone had had their fill, the tables were once again pushed back to make room for dancing, and the two fiddlers and the lutenist she had somehow managed to find began to play. 

She had thought of finding a singer, but truthfully, she was tired of all the songs. It was time to write new ones.

Once the dancing was well underway, she got up to socialize and share toasts and drinks with her guests. 

Some of them clearly felt awkward and uncomfortable with her at first, not knowing what to say or if they should acknowledge what they had seen, but her smiles and conversation soon had them relaxed and talking of politics, and plans for Spring. 

The Lords presented their sons, the Ladies their daughters, and she did her best to remember their names, their houses, and to give her condolences on any loved ones lost to the wars, and her thanks again to those who fought.

Lady Brienne approached her (no, Ser Brienne now), and was trailed as usual by her squire Poderick. If Poderick had been unable to meet her eyes without blushing back in Kings Landing, it was nothing compared to his efforts NOT to look at her in her dress now. He was positively purple. Brienne was in a state as well, but not over her curves. “My Lady, you look lovely tonight. But, I didn’t know... how badly... I know you had said... but... I just... I wish I could have gotten to you sooner. Before…”

“I know Brienne. You did everything you could, don't ever feel otherwise. Tonight, I did this for myself. I won’t hide and be ashamed. It’s a reminder of how strong I can be. For myself and for them." She nodded towards her guests. 

Brienne still looked as plussed as if she had committed the offense herself, but she always did take on the weight of others' suffering. Turns out Brienne was the only true knight Sansa had ever known, and she hoped now that Brienne could perhaps start living for herself for a bit. She deserved her own happiness.

Arron Umber was the first to ask her to dance. She was glad she could finally recall his name.

She wasn't sure if the scars would put men off from wanting to ask. From wanting to put their hands on her back. Perhaps elsewhere that would be the case, but this was the North, she reminded herself, people saw beyond the surface and moved on. 

That, and the unmarried Wardeness of the North was a prize no matter a back full of scars. She could look a troll and still have Lords vying to marry her now, she thought wryly. 

Arron seemed a sweet man though, the eldest son of the GreatJon, and of an age with her if she had to guess. She told him she’d be happy to dance with him. Even if only to take her mind off Sandor, and wherever he was. She also felt a bit bad for completely abandoning him after their last dance. 

When they took the floor he didn't seem to have any qualms about laying his hand on her back.

"You look absolutely stunning tonight my Lady. Your gown is amazing. I believe you stopped more than a few hearts when you entered."

She laughed. "Why thank you, you're very kind to say. I'm not sure that it was just the gown though."

He colored a bit at that. Didn't know what to reply for a moment, but then he saw her smile.

"My Lady, we had all heard what happened to you at the hands of the Bolton Bastard, but I confess, to see it with my own eyes was shocking. I know I speak for the other Lords as well when I say the North will avenge this to every remaining Bolton man we find North of the Neck, and ensure nothing like this ever happens again."

"Thank you Arron. That means much to me. And I promise to do my very best for all of you as Wardeness."

He spoke again of her visiting Last Hearth, and she kept all her answers open ended, and their conversation light.

After their dance ended another Lord asked her to dance, and another after that. It seemed now that as far as her people were concerned, all was well.

A little too well, now that the eyes were off her back, and onto the rest of her. She could see man after man watching the shape of her move under her gown. She didn't mind. She had made this gown to ensure that everyone looked.

Growing more anxious about Sandor, she couldn't help looking about the room for him every few minutes. She declined the next few offers to dance, claiming she needed to rest a few moments, and returned to her seat. 

She knew she couldn't go to him, as much as she would have liked to go find him this second, but she desperately hoped he would come back. 

Her worst fear was that in the state he was in, he would just take his horse and leave tonight, without even saying goodbye. 

At the table she saw that the sweets had been brought out, so she nibbled at a cake, and poured herself another goblet of wine. She tried to look content as she watched the others drinking and dancing.

Tormund appeared at her side a moment later, startling her. For a big, loud man, he could be very quiet when he wanted to be! 

“I’m glad your brother beat that fucker bloody, and you did for him right, girl. T'was a sweet victory, that day. But we gingers are tough, you and I, eh? We're kissed by fire and made strong as steel!”

He clanked his horn of ale to her goblet, and luckily everything that spilled out of both landed on him. 

She had to laugh. He was so very crude, but she saw why Jon liked him so well. She liked him too.

It was her turn to surprise him when she motioned for him to bend down to her, kissed him on the cheek, and said “Thank you Tormund. You’re so very sweet. Someone else seems to think so as well.” 

She pointed to the serving girl he had made off with the other night. She had noticed the girl making eyes at him all during the meal.

“Oh, I like that one!” He exclaimed, and was off in pursuit.

Arya had disappeared again, and so had the new Lord of Storms End. At least her sister was finally celebrating, she thought with a wry smile. 

She saw then that Tyrion was working his way toward her. He had been sitting with his brother for most of the feast. 

She still felt a bit uncomfortable about Jaime Lannister's presence here, but he fought as hard as any Northerner during the Long Night, and she had to trust Brienne and Tyrion vouching that he was a changed man. Anyone can change, she reminded herself.

"Why is the most beautiful woman in the North sitting alone again at the table?" He said as he took the seat next to her.

"Dessert."

He laughed "Ah, I had almost forgotten about my wife's sweet tooth! But I still know when something's bothering her and she's trying to smile her way through it."

She sighed, avoided answering by pouring him a goblet of wine. He studied her as she did so.

"You know Sansa, I've always thought I was the cleverest man, and now I'm convinced you're the cleverest woman. I know what you did tonight. With that gown. Which by the way has me thinking the most lustful thoughts along with every other man in this room with eyesight."

She smiled. He always did know how to cheer her. 

"And what exactly did I do tonight, with this gown?"

"You broke every Northern knight, Lord, and Lordling in the room, then put them back together with something to fight for. To defend and protect. It was brilliant. And I believe a bit cathartic for you as well?"

"Yes. It was. I don't want these scars to become my secret shame."

"But you didn't yet accomplish everything you set out to do tonight, did you? You're still waiting on a certain brute of enormous proportions, with his own scars, to recover from seeing yours, and return to the Hall to claim you."

She blushed crimson and sipped her wine.

"Then I'm correct."

"And if you are correct? Do you think me mad?"

"Quite the opposite. I’ve known the Hound my whole life, and have always suspected there was a good man tucked in there under all that cursing and chainmail. Plus I have eyes. I saw more than you think during my time in Kings Landing. The man clearly had a soft spot for you, and it was more than the pretty face. He was sharp enough to see something in you all the others missed.”

“That’s good to hear you say. I used to think it was only me that saw another side to him, and it was only because I was being naïve and wishful.”

“As I once said to your brother Jon, I’ve always had my own soft spot for cripples, bastards, and broken things. Or should I say broken men. Because most of us have a good heart beating underneath the surface once we're extended some compassion and kindness.”

“I suppose I’m one too now. A broken woman.”

“No, never broken Sansa. Whole and strong. And beautiful both inside and out. Then and now.”

He looked towards a man approaching them and stood, taking her hand for his customary kiss.

"Now go dance with this one until the other one regains his senses." 

He left her with a wink as Arron Umber arrived at the table yet again. 

"My Lady, would you care for another dance?” He offered his hand. 

This would be their third dance together now. It would start talk. Once the GreatJon saw, he’d probably start planning the wedding. She had to laugh. But she rose anyway.

"I would, thank you." And she took his hand, wishing it were much bigger, and attached to a different man.


	16. The Sweetest Thing

Chapter 16 – The Sweetest Thing

*Sandor*

He sat alone in the armory after the Little Wolf left him. He needed wine. Hadn't exactly thought to grab any as he stormed out of the Hall. He wished now that he had.

That gown. Her back. What she suffered exposed, there for everyone to see, on purpose. The way she looked at him as she walked through the Hall, like there weren’t a hundred other people in the room. 

He turned it all over and over in his mind.

The Little Wolf seemed to know what her sister was going to do tonight. 

Said that he should already know what Sansa wanted from him. Suddenly the little killer was the Crone.

He felt like he didn't know anything at all anymore, except that he would go mad if he sat here any longer.

He got up and headed towards the Hall with the intention of finding the kitchens, some strongwine, and a quiet place to drink it.

Halfway there a familiar form waddled out of the shadows. 

"Ah! If it isn't Lord Clegane! Why are you not in the Hall feasting and drinking? Our Lady Sansa puts on the most lovely events. It's a missed opportunity not to partake."

"Imp. I don't feel like feasting. Just looking for a drink. I plan to get bloody drunk and then I'm leaving in the morning."

"Yes, back to Clegane Keep. Look how far we’ve both come in the world since I was the one getting drunk at Winterfell and waking up in the kennels. Although despite your moniker I've heard you prefer waking in the stables."

He said nothing but shot the Imp a disgruntled look.

"But Clegane, before you go off to get drunk you may want a piece of advice."

"Why the fuck would I want advice from you?"

"Because we seem to have a beautiful woman in common. A woman who somehow sees past our wretchedness and extends her kindness to us just the same. My powers of observation and deduction are legendary, and I’ve observed and deduced over the years that you are miserably in love with Sansa Stark. In the past this would be an impossible situation, but lately we seem to be having much success beating down impossibilities. Wouldn't you say?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Except that I do. While we were never truly man and wife, I did get to know the former Lady Lannister quite well. She's grown into an exceptional woman that too many have underestimated, a situation she corrected quite beautifully tonight. At this very moment that exceptional woman is the center of the Hall's attention, filling every man with lust and devotion and every woman with envy, yet instead of reveling in her victory she's looking around and around for the one large fool who's not there."

“And just how do you know it me she’s looking for?”

“Because unlike you, I spoke with her.”

The Imp stared up at him with a surprising kindness.

"Go find her Clegane." he said, and waddled off.

Sandor stood there a moment, with his hands on his hips, his face turned up to the stars, and took a deep breath. Then another. 

"Aye" he said, now to himself. The Imp was right. 

I need to talk to her. I can't leave tomorrow morning like this. 

The Hall was loud and crowded now that the music and dancing were underway, and those who weren’t dancing were milling about, all one cup drunker than the next. 

Didn’t matter, his eyes spotted her immediately. 

The Imp was right again, she was the most beautiful woman in the room, in every room, even when she wasn't in a dress that made him unsure if he wanted to stare lustfully at her all night, or throw his cloak over her to hide her from every other lustful stare in the room.

She was dancing with that Umber cunt again, and smiling about it. He almost turned around and left again, but then saw the boy pull her just a bit closer, and smooth his hand a bit lower on her back. 

"GO." was all he said to the boy when he appeared next to them. 

They both looked up at him, startled. Lad at least had enough sense to bow to Sansa politely, and take his leave immediately. 

"Sandor."

"Outside, Little Bird."

She didn't take his arm as she had last time, just turned and headed towards the courtyard door. He followed, eyes raking her back again. Each mark he saw there twisting in his gut like a knife.

This time when she reached the stone bench around the fountain, she didn't sit, but stood looking up at him with her hands clasped at her skirt. Calm.

His anger flared white hot again to see her calm about what her body showed to be torture at the hands of a madman. 

He grabbed her arms and pulled her to him. 

"Tell me where his fucking bones are Little Bird, because I'm going to dig them up, rip them apart, and feed them to the hounds one by one!"

As she looked up into his eyes, he saw tears come to the corners of hers, and she reached up and took his face in her hands.

"You can't Sandor. I already fed him to the hounds. His own hounds. Alive. And as I stood there and watched them tear that monster apart, listened to his screams, I thought about what you said to me years ago. Killing Ramsey WAS the sweetest thing."

He choked out a strangled sob. 

"And tonight? This gown? Your back? Why?"

"I needed to show everyone what I survived through for my family, my home, my North, and my revenge. That I was willing to suffer anything and stay alive to get it all back. I may not be able to pick up a sword and fight, but I had to show them I could be strong for them too."

He softened his hold on her and could only stare into her face, his heart breaking at her words.

"And I needed you to see my scars most of all."

“Why me? I already know how strong you are, girl."

"Do you love me Sandor?"

He let go of her and backed away as if struck. She held his eyes and he saw the Wolf there. He wasn't going to get away from her this time.

She took a step towards him. "Answer me. Do you love me?"

"Yes." 

"Even with half my body scarred and ruined?"

"Yes. I don't give a fuck about your scars other than hating that someone hurt you. And nothing could ever ruin you, Little Bird. Nothing."

She held his eyes and came closer still. So close he could feel her warmth. See the pulse at her throat.

"Then you're going to believe me when I tell you that I love you too, Sandor. I think I always have, I just didn’t realize it. But I do now. I don't care about your scars either, beyond hating that someone hurt you, and nothing could ever ruin you for me. So let’s not push each other away. Not anymore."

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak for a moment. She loved him.

"Then why were you chirping at me about taking Clegane Keep and riding off to make some stupid match?"

"Because I was afraid. Afraid to tell you how safe and happy being with you makes me feel. What right did I have to presume you felt the same? I just wanted you to have whatever makes you happy. Even if that meant I’d lose you again.”

He reached out to her, and softly brushed the curve of her cheek with his fingers. 

"Little Bird, you're the only thing in this world that can make me happy."

*Sansa*

He gently turned her around, and she was confused a moment until she felt his lips on the back of her neck.

Where the scars began. 

He kissed again lower, and then again. 

She felt his hands surround her waist, as he dropped to his knees and continued kissing down her back. Every mark, every scar. 

So gently she felt goose prickles rise all over her skin, and the tears in the corners of her eyes spill freely.

She couldn’t control a short sob. Her scars.

These were their first kisses. 

He turned her to face him again, with his hands still at her waist, and ran his palms up her back, pressing the scarred side of his face to her stomach. 

He held her like that, on his knees, like a man at prayer. 

"Little Bird..." he choked, his voice pure gravel with emotion. 

She held his head to her. Hands in his hair. His tears on her gown. 

When he finally looked up at her, she leaned over and kissed him.

It was a kiss that went from a flame to wildfire in a heartbeat. 

With one arm still wrapped around her waist he rose, picking her up with him, the other behind her head to keep her lips to his. 

She could feel the hunger in his kiss and returned it with her own, hands around his neck holding herself to him, not realizing how tightly they held each other until he eased his grip to let her slide slowly down to her feet. 

His lips moved then to her temple, behind her ear, slowly down her neck, and her breath caught at the feeling of each new kiss.

This time she wasn't surprised by her desire for him, just its intensity, and she abandoned herself to how wonderful it all felt. 

All the years they were caught up in their strange emotional tug of war in Kings Landing, and how afterwards they thought they were lost to one another, only to stumble back together here at Winterfell, all fell into place. 

With his lips still at her throat, his hands ran down over her hips. She felt their heat through the satin of her gown. Felt his fingertips gripping her. 

She clutched at his back and pressed the length of her body to his, wanting no space left between them, wanting to feel all of him against her.

When he took her mouth again, the courtyard fell away, and all that was left in the world for her was him.

*Sandor*

Fuck the dragons, the ground itself could crack open under their feet and he'd happily be swallowed by it as long as he didn't have to let her go.

After longing for her for so many years, hearing her say she loved him had completely undone him. Whatever happened now, he would always have this moment.

The passion she returned his kisses with took his breath away. 

He couldn't stop his hands from feeling the curves of her waist and hips through that damned gown, the satin so smooth and thin he could feel the heat of her skin beneath it.

He kissed her neck. Her throat. That spot he had seen her pulse, now he could feel it under his lips.

Her arms were around his neck as his fingertips dug into the soft flesh of her hips. It was all he could do not to pull them into his.

When she pressed every inch of her body against him, and met his lips again, he was lost. 

He wanted to tear his jerkin off so he could better feel her breasts pressing into him; wanted to pull the pins out of her hair so it could fall across his arms again.

It was all too much. 

So he reached down and scooped her up. 

He thought she might protest, but she only broke their kiss to smile at him. 

His knees went so weak he almost dropped her. 

They just smiled at each other like two fools as he carried her towards his rooms. Or her rooms. Somebody’s fucking rooms, because he had Sansa Stark in his arms and he needed to find a featherbed to peel that dress off and lay her down on. Now.

They only made it as far as the foot of the stairs.

"Sandor Clegane. Sansa. We need to speak."

Gods-Fucking-Dammit-to-the-Bloody-Buggering-Seven-Fucking-Hells. 

It was her brother Brandon, being pushed by Tormund fucking Giantsbane, staring up at them. 

It was a good thing he wasn't carrying a sword, or Winterfell would be down one Wildling.

"Clegane! Sorry to interrupt! Looks like you found yourself the only other beautiful ginger in this place!! Har!!"

"Shut the fuck up."

He still had the Little Bird in his arms, and she patted his chest and cleared her throat. 

Fucking Hells. 

He set her down gently onto her feet. Watched her as she arranged her wrap and smoothed down her gown. He forgot the other two were there for a second.

The Raven boy spoke. "Let's go to the family solar, and Sandor, please come along as well."

Sigh.


	17. The Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interestly enough, most of the information about the lands of Thenn beyond the Wall is canon. I discovered it on Wiki of Ice and Fire as I was pondering this plotline. The Pact at the Nightfort is canon as well, but not so much with the Thenns. And I took a big liberty with Dalla and Val's bloodline... sneaky sneaky...

Chapter 17 – The Destiny 

*Sansa*

When they arrived in the family solar, there was a large fire crackling in the hearth, and a large crowd.

They found Arya, Brienne, the GreatJon and his three sons, Samwell Tarly, and Jaime Lannister already in attendance, with Poderick hunched behind them all, feeding more wood into the fire. 

At the sight of the odd group now assembled, Sansa knew there was a problem. 

“Bran, what’s going on?”

“And what’s he doing here?” Arya asked angrily, pointing at Jaime Lannister.

“I asked him to be here.” Said Bran, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ve asked all of you to be here because we will soon have visitors at the gate. I’ve seen them.”

“Who?” Sansa asked. 

Bran looked over and spoke to Tormund and Sam as he answered. 

“The Magnar of Thenn, Sigorn, and his wife Alys Karstark.”

Both Tormund and Sam looked stunned.

“They lived? Through the Long Night? At the Wall? At Castle Black? How?” Sam rattled off.

“Not at Castle Black. At the Nightfort. The Night’s King’s pact. The stones held the old words.”

Sam and Tormund seemed to understand all this, but she was utterly lost, and saw the others in the room had no idea as well.

“Bran, you’re going to need to explain this to the rest of us.” She wasn't about to stand here and try to unwind puzzles.

“Our visitors will be bringing word that the land of Thenn was left unharmed during the Long Night. I didn’t see it before, didn’t know enough yet to look. I was looking East at the army of the dead, not to the West at the living. Thenn holds the Old Magic, and a Pact as well. So they live, and now they march. On the North. The whole North.”

Thankfully Sam saw she was losing her patience and spoke up to explain further.

“The Pact, it was made between the Night’s King, who was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch at the time, and the White Walkers, a thousand years ago when he took a White Walker bride. The only White Walker bride. Baby boys. They gave the Walkers human baby boys in exchange for their lives. The Pact ensured their safety, and wove spells of protection into the walls of the Nightfort, and they apparently still work. The Thenns must have formed the same Pact with them.”

“Like Craster.” Tormund growled.

“Yes, like Craster.” Sam went on, “So what Bran is saying is that the White Walkers left Thenn and their people unharmed when they began their march. Began the Long Night. They honored their Pact. And there’s thousands and thousands of them. Thenns. Their land is unique beyond the Wall. Isolated by the Frostfangs, but fertile, fed by volcanic caverns, and their people hail back over ten thousand years. There are probably more Thenns than all the other Wildling tribes combined.”

Tormund nodded in agreement, “And they didn’t want to join Mance. The old Magnar forbid it. He must have known there was no need. But when he was killed and his son Sigorn became Magnar, he wanted his people South.”

“And this new ‘Magnar' is married to Alys Karstark?” Sansa asked

“Oh yes,” Sam said, “And they’re quite in love apparently.”

She was desperately trying to follow along. “And these Thenns now have a new leader? And want to take the North? How do they ever expect to take it, let alone keep it if they did? Once Jon and the Queen find out and come for them on dragons, they’ll lose.”

Bran spoke again, this time looking towards the GreatJon and his sons. 

“They’ve already taken Last Hearth and Eastwatch. They knew all stood empty during the Long Night. They’ve taken Bear Island as well, and sail towards Deepwood Motte as we speak.”

The GreatJon roared a string of obscenities, while his sons stood in shock, the middle boy grasping the pommel of his sword in reflex. Feeling no doubt as if swinging it at something in the room would help. He was clearly the fighter of the three.

“Then we’ll send a raven, now, to Jon at Dragonstone, tell him he needs to return with the Queen immediately and drive them out. They can’t fight dragons. This is madness on their part.” She told Bran.

“They don’t plan to fight. They plan to negotiate. And give Queen Daenerys an heir in exchange for the North. A babe of Targaryen blood. Dalla Targaryen’s blood.”

Realization broke across Tormund’s face. “They have Val and the baby.”

“Yes. And there can be no ravens to Dragonstone. When Jon returns, when the Magnar arrives,” he looked around at everyone in the room, “we will find them and rescue them. Val and Dalla's baby will help shape the destiny of the North, the future of our families, as will the rest of you in this room. I have seen it.”

*Sandor*

Before Brandon Stark dismissed them all, he asked Sansa and Arya to return later. He said he "Had to go for a while, and try to 'see' a bit more." 

Whatever the fuck that meant. But the part about him and the others in the room shaping a part of the Stark family's destiny kept ringing in his head. 

The Little Wolf had asked to meet Sansa in her rooms before they went back for the boy. There was something she wanted to discuss with her sister. 

"Little Bird, what in the Seven Hells was all of that?" He asked as they left the solar, but she seemed deep in thought, and didn't reply for a few moments. 

After a bit she stopped and turned to him.  
"I'm not entirely sure yet. Sandor, I know you meant to ride West in the morning. Would you consider staying on here at Winterfell a bit longer instead? With me?”

He couldn't leave her now if he were beaten, tied to Stranger, and dragged off.

"Will I get to kiss you again if I stay?"

She smiled and drew his head down to hers. "Yes." 

She kissed him so softly and slowly he would have agreed to live the rest of his days in the stall with Stranger for her. 

"Can't keep your hands off her, can you Clegane! Har!" Tormund bellowed down the corridor at them. 

Others take him.He'd had enough of this fool today. He said nothing, but scooped the Little Bird up into his arms once again and headed off towards her rooms.

"That’s the way! Now you're stealing her proper, Clegane! Just don't drop her!"

"I'm going to kill that fucking Wildling one of these days."

She just laughed. "He's not so bad."

Once they reached her door he set her back on her feet in front if it.

"What your brother said, about destiny. This is something he can see? From the tree? The ravens? I bloody hells don't understand any of it."

"I don't know that I understand it either Sandor, but he is able to see things somehow. The past, the present, flashes of the future, but those aren't written in stone from what I gather. We still have the power to change the bits of the future he sees."

"So you want me to stay at Winterfell.”

"Is that so bad?" She smiled up at him and moved in closer to him.

"No. Didn't ever want to ride West in the first place. I like Winterfell. I like the North. And I especially like the new Wardeness of the North.” He said as he lightly held her chin, grazing his thumb softly over her bottom lip. 

"Good" She whispered as she reached up and brought his lips down onto hers and kissed him again. 

He broke the kiss. "Can your brother see us now?" He asked.

"I don't care if he can." She said, and began unfastening the clasps of his leather jerkin, pushing it open, her eyes never leaving his. 

Every part of him was on fire as he backed her up against her door and kissed her hard. She returned his kiss with just as much passion, and snaked her arms up around his neck pressing herself into him.

His hands went down to her waist, her hips, then up gently over her back. The feel of her scars gave him a flash of pain again, but with the better feeling of her breasts against his chest through only his tunic, it didn't last long.

He ran the backs if his fingers down her arms and let them trail further to graze the sides of her breasts. 

She responded by intensifying her kiss, and he couldn’t keep his hands from grasping her bottom and pulling her into his hardness. When she gasped into his mouth at the feeling of him, he almost lost himself right there in the corridor.

"Ahem. Pardon me, did I arrive too early? Do you two need more time to say goodnight?" 

Every. Fucking. Time. 

Sansa looked up at him with a sigh, and he reluctantly let her go to refasten his jerkin and catch his breath before he turned around and killed the Little Wolf. 

"You two know you're supposed to do that on the other side of the door, right?"

"That's enough out of you, girl."

She returned his glare with a smirk. 

The Little Bird put her hand on his chest.  
"Sandor, would you meet me in the Godswood tomorrow evening after dinner? I'll suspect I'll have to spend most of the day with Arya and Bran, so much needs to be discussed before we can plan, but afterwards?"

"Aye, Little Bird. In the Godswood after dinner then." 

He turned to the Little Wolf

"And I better not see you there at all. Understand? No popping out of the fucking trees or I'll chuck you over the walls."

Still just that smirk. Fucking hells this one.

Sansa rose to her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek, ran her hand down his chest, and smiled, her lips looked deliciously red and swollen from their kisses. 

"Then until tomorrow evening, Goodnight Sandor."

"Goodnight Little Bird."


	18. Sisters and Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember, I'm taking some huge liberties with characters and plot... it's all just for fun in the end... so just go with it 😉

Chapter 18 - Sisters and Whispers

*Sansa*

Arya followed her into her solar and barred the door behind them. 

"Well it seems Clegane came to his senses. I’m just surprised he only smashed up the armory first, and didn’t kill anyone. He’s clearly changed a bit since I last saw him.”

“The last time you saw him you were trying to kill him.”

Arya sighed and rolled her eyes. “It makes no matter now. So you two have finally come to an understanding?"

"We have. I love him, and he loves me. You love him too Arya, in your strange, surly way, so quit trying to make him so angry."

"I can't help that every time I happen upon the two of you together, you're either doing something ridiculous or disgusting."

"And you weren't off doing the same with Gendry tonight? You both disappeared after dinner."

"No. And in case you didn’t notice, he wasn’t with us in the solar tonight.”

She hadn’t noticed, he wasn’t there.

“You heard Bran, the people in that room will be part of our family’s destiny. Part of the North’s destiny.”

“But Arya, how?”

"I don’t know yet. Bran may not even know yet, but he said it. He hasn’t been wrong yet, has he? We may not understand what he tells us until after its come to pass, but then it’s clear as day.”

She recalled what Bran had told Arya just yesterday morning, ‘Sansa is shedding her skin’. 

“Gendry will be leaving with Jon and the Queen's armies, and accompany them as far as Kings Landing, then making his way on to Storms End. That’s what I need to talk to you about.”

“All alone? Oh Arya, that poor boy.”

“Will you stop saying that? He’s not a child. And anyway, he won’t be alone. Because you and I are going to find him a wife before he leaves. A proper Northern Lady who actually wants to help him run a castle, have his babies, teach him how to be a proper Lord.”

Sansa couldn't keep the shock from her face.

“You really mean to choose a wife for your lover? That’s mad, Arya! Does he know this?”

“Yes, and he’s agreed to it. He knows he’ll need a wife, and he knows it will never be me, so why not someone I choose? Someone smart and kind. He doesn’t have a mother or father, didn’t grow up in a castle, have a Maester, barely has manners. You were at Court in the Capitol, do you remember the vultures there? Imagine them descending on Storms End once he arrives, all vying to take a piece of the new Lord. He’d be a lamb before slaughter. And a Northern wife means an alliance with the North."

She was right. 

“And it’s not mad, because I’m not his ‘lover’, not in the way you mean. I don’t feel like that. I don’t go all wobbly for him. Were friends, and I think I just got curious. Now I know. And we’ll still be friends.” She shrugged. 

“If that’s how you truly feel, then I agree. It’s a good idea. When did you become so clever?”

“I’ve always been this clever.” 

“Arya Stark; assassin, hero, matchmaker, politician.”

“Who would have thought? Now I just need you to figure out how to help me do it.”

“Well, most of the Northern families are already here at Winterfell. So all you need to do is start spending some time with their daughters, instead of in the training yard with their sons. And you better be quick about it if you intend to make him a match in a fortnight, especially with everything else going on now."

Arya wrinkled her nose at that.

“Fine. Do you think Bran is done with whatever he’s doing? I’d like to know a little more about what he means for us to do with invading Thenns and more surprise Targaryens.”

Sansa sighed deeply. “It never ends, does it? Win one battle and the next is already marching behind it. Will there ever be peace?”

“Don’t know. Don’t know that I’d even recognize peace if I saw it.”

Sansa took her sister’s hand. Arya had been fighting for so long. Alone. And now she wouldn’t even have her friend Gendry.

Arya gave her hand a squeeze in return, then went to the table to pour them each some wine.

"So sister, Clegane WAS in the solar. I guess that means he’ll be sticking around?

"I’ve asked him to stay on at Winterfell for a bit. He’s agreed. I refuse to lose Sandor again. He doesn't even want Clegane Keep or its lands, never has."

"You want to marry him, don’t you!" 

"Hush! What I want at the moment are are some clear answers from Bran. I’m Wardeness now, this invasion is on my shoulders. I need to speak to my Lords, not sit around waiting.”

"You were so strong tonight Sansa. Those Lords in the Hall tonight know it too now. Although I’m not sure how they’ll take their Lady together with Sandor Clegane, but they’ve come to respect him. Also helps that he scares them shitless.”

She had to laugh.  
“I’m pretty sure they’re all equally terrified of you now as well, little sister.”

“Good. I just want you happy Sansa. If that means you with Clegane, then so be it. He’s a big idiot, but he’s a good man. I just don't need to see him mauling my sister in the corridors please."

"I can't make any promises Arya. Gods, he can be so romantic, and when I run my hands over him... you should feel the muscles... and his kisses..."

"Oh Gods, No no no! No more! Disgusting!" She put her hands over her ears. 

"Its bad enough to hear the kitchen girls and serving wenches whisper and giggle about him. I don't want to hear it from my own sister!!"

"What! They talk about Sandor? What do they say? Don't his scars put them off?"

"Sansa, these are Northern girls, and half the kitchen staff are Wildlings too now, don't forget. They don't care about his scars. If anything they like the scars. They think it makes him look dangerous. To them he's the infamous ‘Hound turned warrior of the North’. It's ridiculous."

"Exactly what is it that they say about him?"

"They sound like you, dummy. That's why I can't listen to it. 'Oh he's sooo big. I bet ALL of him is big, if you know what I mean. I'd climb that man like a tree to find out for me-self. And so strong! Those muscles! He could steal me away any time he'd like. Blah. Blah. Blah.' It's disgusting."

"Well!!"

"Relax, they talk about everyone. I've overheard them talk of Gendry too. But I'm sure once they see that the Hound now belongs to the Lady Stark, the talk will stop."

"What do they say about Gendry?"

"Nothing anymore. I made it known the next wench with his name on her lips I'll kill in her sleep."

"Arya!" Sansa laughed. "We'll never keep any help if you threaten to kill them all. It's just talk, like you said."

"Then why are you all red and huffy hearing about that they moon over Clegane?"

"Well..."

"Exactly. Now let’s go back to the solar and get our answers out of the Raven. Hopefully Sam is there to interpret."

*Sansa* 

Bran did have their answers, most of them. And thankfully Samwell Tarly was still with him to fill in some blanks.

Val and her sister Dalla turned out to be the daughters of one of Aerys Targaryen’s bastard sons. 

The boy ended up in the Night’s Watch, became a ranger, and fathered his own bastard girls on a Wildling woman he took to fancy beyond the Wall. He died on his last ranging, shortly after conceiving Val, having separated from his party of black brothers, and froze to death in a snowstorm before reaching Castle Black. 

The Thenns that had Val and Dalla’s baby, a sweet little boy babe Sam had met at the Wall, were almost to Deepwood Motte.

They figured a small party would most likely break from the group that were to take the Motte, and move Southeast towards Winterfell.

“They'll think the Queen is still here.” Arya said. “That works out better than we could hope. Let them take the Motte, it's empty anyway, and we'll wait quietly for them to come to us.”

“What if they arrive before Jon is back?”

“Makes no matter,” Arya said, “Give me Brienne, Clegane, Tormund, and a few good men, and we’ll take them.”

Sam spoke up. “This would need to happen without any word of it getting to the Queen. Bastard or not, he's her blood. The Thenns are right to assume she’ll want the baby. She needs an heir, and a child of Targaryen blood would be priceless to her. Only one with Targaryen blood can control a dragon. Continue both her legacy, and that of her dragons.”

She asked Sam and Bran a question that had been nagging at her. "How does the Queen know for certain she can't have children?"

"A trick of blood magic. She gave her child and her womb in exchange for her Khal's life. But lost all three then, in the Great Grass Sea." Bran answed.

“How would she even know for sure this child is who they say he is? How would they confirm his bloodline? No records are kept of bastard births, especially bastard births between black brothers and Wildlings beyond the Wall.” Sansa asked.

Bran turned to her. “The dragons will know. They knew with Jon before even he did.”

She sighed. “Then tonight we will need to rest, and tomorrow we will plan, and be ready when they arrive.”

Back in her chambers, she called for Evvie to help her undress, and bring up some warm spiced wine.

Once Evvie had left her, she sipped her wine and thought about all that had gone on this evening. 

After a bit she wandered over to her armoire where the girl had hung her gown.  
She opened the door and reached out to touch the satin. At least all her work on the dress had paid off. She smiled and let her thoughts run to Sandor. 

She didn’t mean to go on and on to her sister about him, but she was just so happy. It was all new to her, to love a man. To desire what had only been used to hurt her in the past. 

Her feelings for Sandor went deeper than girlish romance. They had been connected since Kings Landing, and even after he left, he remained in her heart and mind. What she had suffered while they were apart was horrible, but perhaps what Arya would have faced had he not found her, or what Jon would have lost without his help, would have been much worse. 

Sandor Clegane was a part of the Stark pack now, and she believed Bran that it was meant to be so. 

Her fingers traced her lips. She could still feel his kisses, and she smiled. 

Evvie had made no comment, but at the glass as she brushed out her hair, she knew the girl had seen the redness on her throat his lips and beard had left on her pale skin.

She could only imagine the talk amongst the servants tonight, between her dress, her scars, and her leaving the feast with Sandor Clegane. That made her smile as well. 

Let the girls whisper and swoon after him. He deserved to be wanted for once, but he was hers, and always had been.


	19. Drowning

Chapter 19 - Drowning 

*Sandor*

The next day, while Sansa met with her brother and The Little Wolf, he went to train in the yard. 

When he found Arron Umber there to spar with, he decided it would be a good day.

He could still taste the Little Bird's lips, and her scent still clung to his tunic. The Umber, for all his good looks and dances, couldn't say the same.

His mood was so good that he even took it easy on the boy, and mumbled a few kind words about his skill improving afterwards. 

The Umber was still left bruised and beaten, but not so much as he could have been.

Truth be told, he seemed a decent enough lad, and who could fault him for wanting to court Sansa Stark? Couldn’t blame any of them after seeing her last night. He’s sure half the men in the Hall stumbled off to fuck their wives, wenches, or hands with her name on their lips and the vision of her thighs moving under satin in their heads.

But this one wouldn’t be dancing with her or touching her ever again, except over Sandor’s dead body. He could almost call up enough generosity to feel bad for the boy.

He stayed to spar with others who came along throughout the morning. Many of the men and boys were improving, he noted. Good. He remembered those two sleeping guards at the gate, lazy fuckers needed to be replaced, and soon. 

As it approached midday, his stomach took him to the kitchens. He didn't feel like eating in the loud crowd of the Hall, so pinching some hot bread and perhaps a leg of fowl was his thought. 

He found his way easy enough, and nobody paid him much mind as they bustled about preparing trays of food and flagons of wine and ale to begin serving. 

A few of the serving wenches glanced his way, and one or two gave him a smile, small curtsie, and a 'm'Lord'. But it was the Baker that took a swat at him with her towel when she saw him stuff one roll from a batch right out of the oven into his mouth, and grab two more in hand.

The old bird gave him one more swat for good measure, then turned and handed him a crock of butter. 

He sat at the corner of the long kitchen table, and enjoyed his hot bread and butter. One of the wenches set a cup of wine before him in passing, and the Baker came to sit across from him with her own wine, more rolls, and and some cuts of meat for them both.

They ate and drank in a companionable silence. It was the most peaceful meal he'd had in a while. 

Afterwards he went to see Stranger, and found his old friend restless. War horses weren't meant to stand around in stables too long.

He led the horse from his stall and gave the big black beast a thorough brushing, and checked his hooves and shoes.

He called for Tom to help him fetch several buckets of warm water, deciding the horse would benefit from a bath. The boy knew he liked to tend his horse himself, and after helping with the water, left him to it.

When he returned a clean and shining Stranger to his stall, he was pleased to see the boy had mucked it, given him fresh hay, and his oats and water were filled. Good lad.

"I know I told you we were to ride West today boy, but my Little Bird wants me to stay, so we stay. But we'll go for a ride tomorrow. I'll promise you a run." He told the horse, before he left him with an apple.

The sun was low in the sky when he headed back to his rooms to clean up and dress. He still had a while until dinner in the Hall was over, and Sansa was to meet him in the Godswood. By now he smelled like a horse himself and needed a bath.

Since he was heading to the Godswood afterwards anyway, why not bathe in the pool? The rest of the castle would be at dinner by then.

After the first time bathing there, how could he ever want to bend and fold himself into a too-small tub again? More of himself sticking out than in, and cold. That pool was warm and deep. He had a new respect for whatever Stark was clever enough to build this castle right over hot springs.

Once back in his room he sent the chamber boy, Trey he recalled, for a skin of wine and a drying cloth, then after thinking better of it, called him back and asked for a plate of whatever the kitchens had laying about to eat as well. 

He found his new clothing hung for him in the armoire, and beside them, his old jerkin looked to have been cleaned and mended as best it could be. The old tunics and breeches were gone, the laundress probably thinking them better used for rags. Ha!

Trey was back with his wine and cloth, and a plate of small meat pies.

"Pardons m'Lord, but this was all that was left out in the kitchens."

"No matter. Can hardly complain about warm meat pies." And ate one in a few bites before the boy had even set down the plate.

Trey looked shocked that he had actually pleased him for once.

He gathered his clothes and the wine, ate one more pie, and left for the Godswood as the sun began to set.

The quiet of the wood seemed to welcome him this time, and the eyes of the Tree looking out at him were a little less unsettling. 

There was a full moon rising tonight, so he could see quite well as he stripped and lowered himself into the steaming pool.

Aaah. This. This he could get used to. He'd gladly freeze his arse off every day up North if he could come home to kisses from his Little Bird and a warm soak in this pool every evening. 

He washed quickly, and then propping his arms up on the bank, just sat back in the water and closed his eyes. There was almost too much to think on, so instead he tried to empty his mind and take in the feeling of calm the Godswood seemed to bestow. 

More time must have passed than he thought, because when he heard someone approach and looked over his shoulder, the Little Bird was there.

"I thought we'd be meeting on land, not in the water." She laughed. 

"Sorry Little Bird, I thought to bathe and dress before you'd finished. Your magic pool is bloody hard to resist. Spoiled me for baths in a tiny tub forever."

"It's wonderful isn't it? It's been years and years since I've been in it."

He watched as she stood quietly for a moment, then removed her cloak and laid it on the branch next to his. She bent and removed her boots one by one next. His eyes widened. 

"What are you doing, girl?"

"Joining you."

His eyes must have been wagon wheels because she was laughing at him as she took off her necklace, slipped it into one of her cloak pockets, then reaching behind her back, began unlacing her dress.

He sat up in the water and turned to watch her, sure any moment she'd stop, but she didn't. 

Letting the gown drop she bent again to remove her stockings. His mouth went dry as she reached up under her shift to the tops of each one, and smoothly eased them down and off. 

If he had fallen asleep in the pool and this was a dream, he'd happily risk drowning until it was over.

All he could do was stare at the sight of her above him in only her shift, hanging her dress and stockings, with the moonlight dappled on her pale shoulders and her bare feet in the scattered red weirwood leaves. The eyes of the tree watching them both.

She came to his side, and held out her hand for him to take as she lowered herself to sit at the bank. 

She dipped her feet and legs in, feeling the water. He reached out and ran one wet hand up her calf, feeling as her skin gooseprickled. Feeling his own hand shake as he did so.

“Your meeting with your brother go well today?” he tried to sound calmer than he felt with her sitting next to him almost undressed.

“Yes. He had more information, and having Samwell there as well to interpret helps. We’ll have to go back to deciphering Bran's cryptic messages on our own again once he leaves.”

“And there’s a plan? To deal with these Thenns, and the Targaryen babe?”

“There is. I’ve asked Arya to meet tonight with Brienne, Tormund, the GreatJon, and you, if you wouldn’t mind, to go over the details. She’s hoping for an ambush rather than a battle, but we don’t know what it will come to, and she wants you there as well.”

“The Little Wolf’s is leading sorties now, is she? Good for her. Aye, I’ll be there for whatever you need. Whatever she needs.”

“Thank you, Sandor. I'm so glad you're here.”

Moving his hand down and circling her ankle, he gave it a playful tug, then offered his hand in invitation. 

She smiled, took it, and slid in the rest of the way into the pool.

The water here came to her waist, and he watched as it slowly seeped up the fabric of her shift. Pulling her braid over her shoulder, she took out the ribbon holding it place, and began to unplait it.

He watched with rapt attention as that long fiery hair came loose and fell free, still holding the waves of the braid. He could feel his throat clenching.

She handed him the ribbon, and in a blink, disappeared under the water in one smooth motion. There were nothing more than ripples along the surface until she popped up out of the water in the middle of the pool. 

There in the light of the full moon, hair dripping and her shift soaked and clinging to every curve, wet and transparent against her skin, it was almost more than he could take. 

The scene was painful it was so beautiful. He wanted to ask her not to move, to just stay right there, and let him look at her like this forever.

I've drowned. I'm dead. And somehow I’ve made it to all the heavens.


	20. Brave, and Gentle, and Strong

Chapter 20 - Brave, and Gentle, and Strong 

*Sansa* 

The warm water enveloping her was wonderful. She felt the day melt away, and wished she was a fish so she could stay under the water, in the silence and weightlessness. 

She was struck with the flash of a childhood memory; she, Rob, and Theon in the pool, playing and splashing, challenging one another to see who could hold their breath under the water the longest. 

When she finally had to surface, she saw Sandor in the same spot, still holding her ribbon and watching her. He hadn't moved, sitting in silence as if rooted as deeply as the tree, his face rapt.

It wasn't until she raised her arms and slicked the water from her hair that he stirred. 

He let himself slip under the water, and a few seconds later rose up from the surface right in front of her. 

She smiled up at him; he was huge, close, his eyes so intense on hers. She suddenly felt a bit shy.

"You swim like a fish too."

"Aye, just missing the gills and tail" he said softly.

He slicked his hair back as well, and she understood why the movement was so enticing. She couldn't help but reach out and run her hands down the wet hair on his chest, feeling the muscles underneath. Shyness quickly gave way to want.

She stepped closer, sliding her hands back up and around his neck to pull his mouth to hers.

Just like in the courtyard, a single kiss was enough to ignite the hunger in both of them, and their kisses became deep and ravenous almost instantly. Each moment stripping away the years of confusion and tension between them.

She let her hands travel his chest again, up to his shoulders and down the muscles of his arms, before slipping them underneath and clinging to his wet back.

She had watched his body joust, spar, and fight many times before, but that was always under armor, mail, or leather. To touch him this way and feel how powerful his bare body alone was under her own hands was mesmerizing.

Being as tall as she was compared to most women, she felt especially entitled to savor his great size and strength making her feel small and dainty. Even in the past it had thrilled her. Now to have him holding her in passion made her feel positively drunk without a sip of wine.

His hands gathered her hair, wrapping it around one fist, and he tugged it gently back to expose her neck as he moved his kisses there. She felt his other hand trail down her back and up again, brushing his thumb along the underside of her breast. The sensation sent goose prickles across her skin. 

His lips crept lower down her neck, each new spot they touched feeling better than the last, until they reached the tops of her breasts. When he took one of her nipples into his mouth through her wet shift, she felt her whole body flush with heat and her breath caught.

He met her mouth again and she couldn't keep from running her hands lower now to the taught muscles of his stomach, and at her touch she felt them contract as he drew a breath against her mouth, then kissed her deeper still. 

That her touch could elicit such a reaction inflamed her.

When he cupped her bottom and pulled her up and against his hardness, she moaned slowly into his mouth. 

It was all the invitation he needed to reach down into the water, to the hem of her shift, and pull it slowly up and over her head. He balled the wet fabric and flung it over his shoulder with a splash. 

She laughed, and held his eyes wolfishly as she removed her small clothes under the water, balled them up as well, and tossed them in the opposite direction.

He chuckled at that, and pulled her close again, gently tracing the curves of her bare breasts with his fingertips, and she felt her knees go weak as he dipped to kiss each nipple again slowly and softly. 

Their bodies met again, this time with only the warm water between their skin.

"Little Bird, you're so perfect, sometimes I find it hard to believe you're real." He whispered. 

"Not perfect, just real. We're both real. And it may have taken us years, but we're here now. Together."

Arms wrapped around his neck, she pressed herself into him, his hardness against her turning her desire into an urgency. She kissed him harder, pulled herself closer. The warm water of the pool a cocoon around their bodies. 

When he gripped the backs of her thighs and lifted her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, the water buoying them both so it felt effortless. He broke their kiss to hold her eyes as he slid her lower and pressed himself into her. 

The moment they were joined, all the urgency fell away, and time seemed to stop as they just marvelled at one another. How far they’ve come. How right this was.

And then he began to move, slowly, reverently, and then with each of her gasps faster, harder.

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back at the feeling of him inside her. He filled every hollow left behind in both her body and heart.

"Oh Gods." She whispered.

He pressed his lips to the dip of her throat, and she both heard and felt the growl in his.

She opened her eyes and drank in the moonlight shining on them, the stars so bright in the black sky, the warm water like ink and diamonds lapping at them. She wanted to etch this moment into her memory forever. 

They moved together as if trying to hold on to every second, never wanting this to end. She thrilled at the sensation building within her, caught her breath at his every thrust, and rolled her hips to meet him. 

Soon she was drawing him in deeper with her legs tightening around his hips. There was no such thing as close enough. 

When he threw his head back, she couldn't resist lowering her mouth to the cords of his neck, kissing and tasting him. 

Her kisses there broke his restraint, and as he pushed into her he tightened his hands on her hips and clutched her against him, holding himself within her longer, deeper, again and again. 

Her pleasure unfolded in waves, until she had his hair in her fists, back arched, and her face turned back up to the moonlight.

"Oh Gods, Sandor....."

Upon hearing her, he drove himself once more deep within her, and clenching her tight against him, gasped his own pleasure into her throat. 

Afterwards they clung together, not moving but for their chests heaving, trying to catch their breath. Neither one of them wanted to let go. So they didn’t. Not until their hearts slowed and the water and woods crept back into their consciousness. 

Finally he set her down, and her toes felt the sandy bottom of the pool. 

He cuped her cheeks in his hands, and kissed her face all over, making her giggle.  
"That was the very best bath I've ever had Little Bird."

*Sandor* 

She said this place was almost magical. No almost about it, for him, it was the most magical place in the world. 

The reality of their intimacy was far better than any fantasy he had ever indulged in the past. Her skin, her mouth, her body against his, all of it. 

They were still standing in the middle of the pool, and she had her arms around him, nuzzling into his neck. He slowly laid out to float on his back, and she came along with him. 

She laughed as he kept her balanced on his chest, swimming slowly backwards toward the bank. 

Once they reached it, he sat in one of the shallower spots, and she stayed in his lap, straddling him in an embrace. The water steamed around them, and he wanted nothing more than to stay right here with her until the sun came up.

“Sandor," she said after a bit. "I’ve always wondered, whatever made you speak to me, years ago? The night of the tourney, when you told me of your burns. You didn’t have to say a word, just see me back to the Keep. Yet you did.”

“Not sure. Think it was your hair that started it all.”

She laughed, “My hair?”

“Here, at Winterfell first. Caught my eye, that color. You were a pretty little thing, but just a child. And your family, everyone so maddeningly sincere, honorable. I watched to see if it was a farce. But it was for true. The Starks were for true. Good, loved one another. It was curious to me, growing up as I did. Then with the Lannisters. When I heard they betrothed you to Joffrey, I knew you were done for. That they would destroy you pieces at a time, and you’d never see it coming.”

“My father never knew what Joffrey was. He meant to end the betrothal… before… he promised he’d find someone else for me, someone brave, and gentle, and strong.” She touched his face. "Do you think it was destiny, what started between us years ago? 

"Don't know much about destiny. Do know that you got under my skin, all that time ago, and you got into my head. Didn't want you to be there, though. Told myself you were just another highborn bird, all chirps and smiles and curtseys, nothing more, and I had no time or use for you."

"How romantic." She laughed.

He kept his eyes on her collarbones, tracing them with his fingertips as he spoke. Felt oddly vulnerable to be speaking of that time. 

"Don't know much about romance either. But that night, in the dark field, even though I had scared you, you reached out and put your little hand on my shoulder. You wanted to comfort me. From that moment I knew you were going to be the death of me. It was terrifying, to suddenly have a weakness."

When he did meet her eyes he saw her tears, but she was smiling.

“Sandor, I think you do know about romance, after all". She kissed him long and deep, stirring his body again. 

His hands ran down her back, found her hips and drew them into him.

She broke the kiss to look up at him, “See, it was Destiny."

He laughed. "Call it whatever you like Little Bird, just kiss me like that again." 

She did. 

And when she lowered herself onto him, leaning back with her pale throat exposed like an offering, and started to rock her hips with him deep inside her, he decided he believed in destiny after all.


	21. Coincidence and Miracle

Chapter 21 – Coincidence and Miracle

*Sansa*

This was how it was supposed to be between a man and woman. Not the suffering and pain all the other men in her past inflicted. Here was one of the biggest, fiercest, and most feared warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, yet his every touch and kiss was filled with love and pleasure. 

Years ago when she was still just a girl she must have sensed this, and had told him “You won’t hurt me.” How right she had been.

She didn’t want to leave the Godswood pool and Sandor’s arms, but there was still much to do tonight. The Wardeness of the North couldn’t float about in the pool all night, with invading Thenns and stolen babies to deal with. She had her duty.

“How are we to make it back to the Keep without anyone noticing we’re both wet?” she laughed as she slipped her gown over her nakedness, then sat on the log at the base of the tree to pull on her stockings and boots. Her shift and small clothes now lived somewhere at the bottom of the pool.

He had just finished dressing, and was taking a swig from his wineskin. He looked thoughtful a moment, then shrugged, and held his hand out to help her rise. 

“We’ll figure it out. May be we won’t run into anyone.”

He came close, and took the necklace she was putting back on from her hands. As she lifted her wet hair, he slid it around her neck. Feeding the long darted chain through the silver circle, he secured it gently at her throat, then ran his hand softly down the chain as it fell between her breasts.

That simple act alone was so intimate and sensuous, she almost pushed him back into the pool.

Instead she kissed him gently. “Thank you.”

The both donned their cloaks, and she took his arm as they left the Godswood. 

It was their luck that the yard was still empty. They were almost safely to the archway into the Keep when two shadows fell around the corner, one tall and the other small, bobbing against the torchlight, and heading their way. 

Without breaking stride, Sandor scooped her up into his arms and proceeded on. A few steps later the shadows turned into Jaime and Tyrion Lannister. 

Sandor leaned close and whispered, “Say nothing if you don’t have to. If you do have to, just your chirps, Little Bird.”

“Clegane. Lady Sansa? My Lady! Your hair is soaked! What happened? Tyrion asked in concern, then eyed Sandor’s wet hair.

“The Lady slipped and fell into the Godswood pool. I fished her out. She’s fine. I’m taking her back to her rooms.”

“And you just happened to be there when this happened, Clegane?” asked Ser Jamie.

“Coincidence.”

“And both of you managed to make it out of the pool with your clothes dry?” asked Tyrion, now with a smirk. 

“Miracle.”

“How wonderful, a coincidence and a miracle all at once. Those Old Gods really are quite something, aren’t they now Clegane?”

Both Lannisters were smirking now, and she knew Tyrion saw the smile that played at her lips as well when she met his eyes. 

Sandor just looked surly and impatient.  
“Are we done with the questions Imp? The Lady might want to get back to her rooms before she freezes.”

“Of course, of course. Don’t let us keep you.”

“Our apologies Lady Sansa.” Said Ser Jamie “I’m sure you're anxious to get into some, er, drier clothes.” And he couldn’t help a small laugh. 

She was about to laugh as well at this ridiculous scene, but instead, in her haughtiest tone replied, “Thank you both for your concern. Oh, and Ser Jaime? I do believe that Lady Brienne was looking for you earlier?”

He looked down as his smile twisted wryly, and he colored slightly. There, she could play this game as well.

“Thank you my Lady, I’ll go find her now.”

And with that Sandor turned his back and walked them into the Keep. 

“Fucking Lannisters.”

She couldn’t keep from laughing any longer, and he set her down as she giggled. 

“Rescued me from a slip into the pool, did you? That's all you could think of?"

“Oh shut up. It was all I could think of at the moment. And what was that little bit about the big wench looking for the Kingslayer?”

“Well, it seems there are more than just a few romances going on at Winterfell at the moment.”

“Bloody Hells, the Kingslayer and Brienne of Tarth? Ha! Never would have called that one. He’s prettier than she is.” 

“Stop, Brienne is a lovely woman. But I wouldn’t want to be the one to let it slip to poor Tormund. He’ll be heartbroken.  
Although I’d love to be the one to tell Cersei. I would savor the look on her face to my grave.”

“Ha! Cersei Lannister finding out her precious brother has not only abandoned her to fight for the Starks, but is fucking Brienne of Tarth. Aye, I would pay good coin to see that with my own eyes.” 

They had arrived at her chamber door.  
“Sandor, once I’ve changed and met with Bran and Arya I’ll send a page to see you up to the family solar along with the others?

“That’s fine. I’ll be in my rooms. Have Trey scrounge me up some food and wine. I seem to have a late appetite.”

He pulled her into him and kissed her. Wound her wet hair around his hand. “Sorry Little Bird, I seem to have lost your hair ribbon.”

“Not to worry, I have many and more of them. I’m just thankful you were there to save me from drowning. A coincidence and a miracle.” She laughed warmly into his lips. 

“Aye, a coincidence and a miracle.”

At that he pulled her even closer and kissed her deeply. Her knees went wobbly. She would never get tired of kissing him. 

He finally pulled away. “Alright, best let you get changed and be off before your bloody sister appears again. Got too lucky tonight, she didn’t interrupt us once.”

She put her hands on his chest and smiled up at him. “Then I’ll see you in a little bit.”

He held her chin and ran his thumb over her lips. “Aye, in a little bit.”

*Sandor*

When he got back to his rooms he found the boy had left him a flagon of stongwine already, knowing now it was what he preferred to drink, and a plate piled high with cold meats, cheeses, and sweets.

How did he ever live without one of these chamber boys before? May be there were some things to being a Lord he could get used to.

Having missed dinner, just the sight of the plate set his mouth watering, and he sat at the table and finished it all within minutes. 

He poured a cup of the wine to wash it all down, and then just as he was refilling his cup, there was a knock at the door.

Assuming it wasn’t the Little Bird, he didn’t really care to answer it. 

“Go away!”

The knock came again. Bloody Hells.

When he yanked open the door he was less than thrilled to find the Imp smirking up at him.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Well, I see your new title and consorting with highborn Ladies have done little to improve your manners.”

“Get to why ever it is you’re on my doorstep, or I’ll be shutting this door.”

“May I?” the Imp gestured, inviting himself into the room. “Just for a cup of wine and a few words of conversation."

Sandor grumbled, but stepped back to let the Imp into his room, and watched as he poured himself the wine, and hopped onto the second chair at the table.

“Come, sit, finish your wine, there’s no need to loom and glower. I only came to tell you that I’m very glad you took my advice last night, and spoke with Sansa.”

“Why would you be glad? I see the way you look at her, you’d have her back as your wife and in your bed if you could.”

“Clegane, tell me what man DOESN’T look at her that way? And of course I’d have her back, but she wanted neither my bed nor my surname. What she does want though, is you. And I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing.”

“And I don’t necessarily need your approval.”

“No, you don’t, you only need Sansa’s. And it seems you’ve earned it. So now allow me just one last piece of advice, since my first one worked out so well? Don’t fuck it up, Clegane. The two of you are, oddly enough, perfect for one another.”

"Perfect for one another? Is that a jape?"

"Not in the least. You clearly love her, and she seems to return the sentiment. And politically, it's perfect as well."

"I dont give a rat's arse about politics."

"Exactly. You don't want her castle, her claim, or to become Warden of the North. You'll just love her and leave her to it. It's more than I can say for every other man who'll come to court her."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I was there Clegane. I saw what you saw. What my family did to that girl. And after you left, I saw even more. I watched as she bravely married a man she could barely stand, with dry eyes and her head held high. I watched as she learned that my father had her mother and brother slaughtered at the Red Wedding. I listened to her sobs at night, and even as her husband, could do nothing to ease her pain."

His heart clenched to hear the words, and the Imp watched his reaction closely. 

"Now here she is, home. Lady. Wardeness. She deserves it. She fought her way back through Lannisters, Littlefinger, and then through even worse. And now she wants you. Choses you. So again I say, don't fuck it up."

His feelings were too knotted up to reply. He could only nod.

The Imp hopped off the chair then, raised his wine cup in toast, and said “So to fresh starts. I'm no longer your employer, you’re no longer the Hound. I’m now a Hand and you’re now a Lord. I won’t call you ‘Dog', and you can stop calling me ‘Imp'. Let’s just be friends, shall we? I’ll be the small one, you be the big one. What do you say?”

“I say you’re fucking mad... Lannister.”


	22. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's plot heavy, but without some plot our lovers would just keep bobbing around in the pool... 
> 
> We want them to have more to do than that, right? 😉
> 
> So bear with me, more lovey-dovey coming up next!
> 
> And perhaps the lovey-dovey will catch a few more pairs in its net soon...

Chapter 22 – Plans

*Sansa*

She had barely closed her door when Evvie was already knocking on it softly. 

The girl was clearly either doing a bit of curious eavesdropping from her room down the corridor, or had developed the sight. Surely she must have even passed Sandor in the hall getting here so quickly!

Gods, that will make it’s way into this evening’s gossip.

She couldn’t really fault the girl though, she had created quite a bit to be curious about recently; the crying, the dress, and a scandalous amount of kissing in the corridor. 

Now she would have to somehow explain her wet hair, dry gown, and missing shift and small clothes. 

All at once, it stuck her how funny it was, and she collapsed into a chair in a girlish fit of giggles. Every time Evvie would say, “m'Lady?” she would begin laughing anew.

Finally composing herself once she saw the poor girl begin wringing her hands, she stood and smoothed her skirts. 

“I’m sorry Evvie, I don’t mean to be silly. It’s just been an eventful day. If you wouldn’t mind bringing me something to eat? I missed dining in the Hall tonight. I can see to my gown and hair on my own.”

“Yes m’Lady.” The girl looked at her as if she were half mad, but didn’t mention her wet hair, thankfully.

She had skipped dining in the Hall earlier to come back to her chambers and freshen up, redo her hair, and change her gown before meeting Sandor in the Godswood. Little did she know it was for nothing, and she’d just end up in the pool with him. She almost started giggling again to think of it.

Once Evvie had left her, Sansa quickly removed her damp gown, found a fresh shift and small clothes in her armoire, and threw on a soft, simple charcoal gown. 

Sitting at her dressing table, she combed out her wet hair, and plaited it into one braid. This time instead of black, she tied it with a grey ribbon. 

Evvie returned with a plate of soft breads, cheese, and dried fruits, along with a flagon of warm spiced wine. 

“Will you be needing anything else m’Lady?”

“No Evvie, thank you. I have to go back out again, but can see to everything on my own once I return. Go enjoy your evening.”

The girl nodded, wished her goodnight, and left her to her meal and wine. 

Probably heading off to tell the other maids that their Lady was now having mad giggling fits on top of all the corridor kissing. 

She ate and sipped her wine, her thoughts on her evening in the pool with Sandor. She couldn’t keep the smile from her face, and her cheeks burned as if the furniture could read her thoughts. Her body still felt the ghosts of his touches and kisses, and the soreness between her thighs was the best sort of ache.

She truly couldn’t recall the last time she had been so happy. She felt almost selfish for it, with everything else going on. 

The wine and the events of the day were catching up to her, and she was starting to feel warm and sleepy sitting next to the hearth, but there wasn’t time for sleep just yet. 

She rose with a sigh, pulled her cloak around her shoulders and left to meet Bran and Arya in the solar.

*Sansa*

Finding only Bran and Samwell in the family solar, having a discussion she was sure only they could understand anyway, she offered to go find Arya. 

She wasn’t in her rooms, the Forge with Gendry, or the Great Hall. She inquired of a few passing servants, and was led to the Small Hall, where she found Arya with Lord Glover’s three daughters. 

House Glover had broken with House Stark after Rob had been killed at the Red Wedding, and refused to renew faith when asked to support House Stark in retaking Winterfell. Lord Glover even refused her offer of refuge at Winterfell during the Long Night, only conceding to send his three daughters, keeping all his menfolk behind. He had not been heard from since the Long Night. 

It seemed Arya was following through with her plan to find Gendry a Northern bride. 

The girls sat together on a divan before the hearth, Arya on a chair in front of them. Nobody looked very happy.

As Sansa entered, the three sisters rose and dipped into a curtsie. 

They were all pretty, with straight brown hair and big brown eyes. You could definitely tell they were sisters, all of them looked nearly identical save their varying ages and colors of dress.

“Good evening, Lady Stark” they chimed. Arya just turned and rolled her eyes.

“Good evening my Ladies. If you wouldn’t mind terribly, I need to steal my sister away.”

None looked the least bit put out, instead they were visibly relieved. She almost laughed thinking what Arya could have possibly been saying to them.

Her sister rose and left the girls with a curt, “Goodbye”, and grabbed Sansa’s arm, practically dragging her from the Hall.

“Your first round of interviews? I’m almost afraid to ask how it went.”

“None of them will do. The eldest is far too serious and prim, and in love with some stupid knight. The middle seems a lackwit, and the youngest sweet, but just too young. And they’re all still hoping to hear from their father. I didn’t mention that their men are all most likely dead, and Thenns are taking their castle.”

Sansa sighed, her heart went out to the girls, she was in their same position once, and knew what pain the news would bring. 

She would need to speak to them once she knew more, but it seemed House Glover was another Northern house on the brink of extinction.

“That’s probably best for now, until we get the situation sorted. But that does give me a thought. You say the eldest is quite serious? Does she seem intelligent?”

“Enough, and you’d certainly approve of her manners. She’s quite anxious to get home and see to her people. She's taken on the responsibilities of her Lady mother since her passing. It's all very sad."

They had reached the solar, and did their best to get as much new information as they could from Bran and Samwell, before calling for the others to attend them.

The page was sent scurrying, and returned shortly with Brienne and Poderick, followed by Sandor, the GreatJon and sons, and Tormund. 

Sansa made sure to stand well apart from Sandor, and tried not to meet his eyes, or look his way too often, lest she start smiling, or Gods forbid, giggling again.

She let Arya lead the meeting. She was proud of her sister taking on this roll. If Rob could lead an army at fifteen with no battle experience, heavens knows Arya could at eighteen, and already a Faceless Man and the Night King killer. 

Arya began by advising the latest positions of all involved. 

“The Thenns arrived at Deepwood Motte overnight, and today have taken it. Bran's ravens have seen a party of twenty men leave with Val and the baby, including the new Magnar, headed for Winterfell. They’re about three days out at their current pace. They’ve taken horses from the Motte, but Thenns aren’t horsemen, so I don’t expect them to move as quickly as if they were."

She went on, “The former Magnar and Alys Karstark are expected to arrive at our gates by tomorrow evening.”

“The Thenns know of their travels. They have a wharg. A fox. But for now it only follows." Bran interjected. 

“No Thenns have been spotted tracking them, but to be safe, at daybreak we’ll send a party out to meet them, and escort them the rest of the way.” She said.

“My brothers and I will go, if it please, my Lady.” Volunteered Arron Umber. “Both Jonah and Harry are quite skilled with a sword.”

“Poderick and I will go as well, Lady Arya.” Said Brienne, already anxious for something to do. She wasn’t the type to be comfortable sitting around a castle.

“Fine. I'm anxious to get a look at this Thenn, see what we’ll be dealing with,” Arya added, and then almost to herself, "and there's the wharg to deal with as well."

“The Thenns are big fellows, but not bigger than me and that one,” the GreatJon nodded towards Sandor, “strong, but untrained. A few would always be mixed in with the other Wildlings, when they’d come raiding at Last Hearth.”

“Free Folk.” Tormund corrected. 

"When they're raiding my lands and trying to kill my smallfolk, they're Wildlings."

"Southerner." Tormund grumbled. 

Brienne then approached Arya with a concerned look. “My Lady, why isn’t Ser Jaime here with us, for this meeting? 

“I told her.” Said Bran.

“Bloody Hells Bran, and I told you - I don’t trust him! If he tells Tyrion of this? If it gets back to the Queen? I know he fought the dead with us, but that was for the living, not for House Stark!” She made a noise of exasperation, “Fucking Lannisters!”

Sandor and the GreatJon both barked a commiserating laugh.

“My Lady, you know me well by now, and I swear to you, on my honor, that he can be trusted. He’s no longer the man he used to be.” Color rose to Brienne's cheeks as she said it. 

Arya met Sansa’s eyes in question, and she nodded her reply.

“Fine. Send a Page for him. But I promise you, if he betrays us, I’ll slit his throat myself.” Her sister said, and no one doubted she meant it.

When Ser Jaime finally slipped into the room, Brienne took up an almost protective posture next to him. Sansa had to hide her smile to see it.

“Now that we’re ALL here,” Arya began, “when Bran tells us the Thenns holding Val and the baby are almost out of the Wolfswood, we will ride out to meet them.”

“Why not just let them in the gates, under the premise of speaking with the Queen, and take them right in the yard? No chance of losing the hostages that way.” Arron Umber asked.

Arya had opened her mouth to answer him when the middle Umber brother, Jonah, spoke. “Because they’ll know it’s a trap. They know Winterfell has scouts and guards, more so with the Queen here, and that we'll know of their approach ahead of time and send out riders, not just wait here and open the gates.”

Arya smiled at him. “Exactly. So we meet them in the Wolfswood, before they get too close to Winterfell. We'll have the advantage in our own woods, and it will provide cover. We still have thousands of Dothraki and Unsullied camped to the South and West of the castle, the Queens people inside the castle, and none of them can know about this. We need to take Val and the baby and eliminate the Thenns quickly and quietly."

“With only the ten of you?” Samwell asked worryingly. “They’ll be twenty!”

She smiled at the group of fighters around her. “We’ll be plenty.”

Arya turned to the Umber boys. "Which of you are archers as well as swordsmen?"

The GreatJon pointed, "Jonah and Harry."

"Good. Make sure you have your bows and full quivers with you tomorrow, and keep them ready for when we ride to rescue the hostages. If you want to train up a bit, I'll be in the yard tonight myself."

“And afterwards, once we have Val and the baby?” Sansa asked.

“Jon. And Rhaegal. They'll be back by then. Once we have their hostages, we’re free to drive the Thenns back and out of the North. But we need to have those two here, and safe, first.”

Sansa had been turning over a thought, and turned to Bran. “Do we know who exactly the new Magnar is? Would he be willing to negotiate with me?”

“I don’t know who he is yet. I don’t know if he would negotiate.” Bran shook his head.

“Why would you want to negotiate with him Lit- my Lady?” Sandor asked.

“Because once we throw them back, what’s to keep them from trying again? I want peace with the Free Folk. All of them if possible. Not to fight endless Northern wars."

Tormund nodded. “She’s right. Best time to do it. When we have them on the run. But what terms?”

“Thats something I’d like to work on together. A formal alliance. I’Il need your help to understand what the Free Folk want and need, and how that can work with what my people want and need. I'd also like to hear from the former Magnar, when he arrives. And Jon. Before he marches South, I’d like his counsel as well, you know he'll be the one to stand middle ground, make sure we're all just unhappy enough with the terms for them to be fair.” She smiled at Tormund, and he nodded his agreement.

"An alliance. I like it. We'll need it."

“Alright then,” Arya said. “We'll leave you to the negotiations and alliances sister, but first let’s get this rescue done, shall we?”


	23. A Favor

Chapter 23 – A Favor

*Sansa*

After Arya ended the meeting, the men and Brienne decided to go down to the Great Hall to drink. 

She and Arya sat talking with Samwell and Bran for a bit, then bid them goodnight, leaving them to resume their discussions. Turns out Samwell wanted to write a book chronicling the War of The Five Kings and the Long Night, and what better source of information than Bran?

Since Winterfell began taking in their bannermen months ago, and the castle filled with men, women, and children, the Great Hall had become a hub for meals, and at night drinking and dicing amongst the men, Free Folk, and off-duty servants. It could get quite raucous. The quieter Small Hall drew the more subdued Ladies and girls with their needlework and gossip.

“Arya, walk with me down to the Hall? I forgot something.”

“What?”

“I need to ride into town tomorrow. There’s still one more feast to plan, before Jon and the Queen’s people depart. A farewell feast. I need to settle my accounts from the last two before I ask the merchants to do it all over again. Since you and Brienne will be gone to meet the Magnar and Alys, I want to ask Sandor to accompany me. I can’t very well go alone.”

“Gods, another feast? Where are we getting the food and coin for all these feasts?”

“Don’t ask. I’ll be relieved when the armies march and our banners can return to their homes. I used to think crowds and nonstop feasts would be marvelous, now I’m just wishing for peace and quiet."

Arya took her arm playfully, “Did you at least enjoy you’re evening with Clegane in the Godswood?”

Sansa blushed red to her roots.

“Aaaah. I see you did. Who would have thought my sister, the proper Lady, would be spending her evenings groping and kissing the Hound in doorways, courtyards, the Godswood…”

Sansa looked sideways at her sister. “Don't call him that. And we’ve done more than grope and kiss.”

“Ugh, don’t tell me!”

“Alright, I won’t then.”

“Seven Hells. Fine. Tell me."

“Oh Arya, it was wonderful. We were in the pool before the Heart Teee…”

“Stop! Never mind! I don’t want to know any more!" She put her hands over her ears.

Sansa laughed at her reaction. 

"Bloody hells, now I've got a picture of it in my mind. Ugh."

As they walked on and Arya seemed to have recovered, she turned to Sansa, "I am glad you’re happy though. Maybe now he’ll be less of a grumpy shit all the time.”

“We’ll see, but I think Sandor will always be Sandor. Luckily I like him just as he is.”

*Sandor*

He was on his third cup of wine, and surprised to find himself almost enjoying drinking with the others. 

Tyrion, always attracted by free-flowing wine and conversation, had wandered in shortly after them, and was now sitting and laughing along with his brother at some nonsense. 

The big wench Brienne was sipping her wine and making mooncalf eyes at Ser Jaime as he tried to steady his cup with his ridiculous golden hand and refill it.

Tormund had apparently given up his pursuit of Brienne in favor of his serving wench, and he and the GreatJon were both already half drunk on ale and arm wrestling as the girl looked on.

Poderick the squire was blushing furiously and trying to make conversation with the feet of an equally shy little serving wench who took a liking to him, the conversation painfully awkward to behold. 

The Umber boys were arguing with two Cerwyns and a Manderly about what type of horse made for the best tourney mount, and making it clear they’d all never been within a days ride of a real tournament before. 

Sandor could only chuckle and shake his head at it all.

He was shocked when the Little Bird and her sister walked in, and did his best to ignore the eyes of just about every man in the Hall on her.

He was used to men staring at Sansa Stark. Was forced to watch them all watch her for years. But now something was different. Everything was different.

Before when he saw men leering at her it irked him, but he was in no position to stop them. She wasn’t his. 

‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes.'

‘Then you’re going to believe that I love you too.'

And he did believe her. Especially after the evening they shared tonight. She was his now.

But he was still in no position to stop them. And that churned his gut. 

He was still struck powerless because he and the Little Bird were a secret. He would gladly stand up this very moment and shout to the entire Hall that Sansa Stark was his, and he’d kill the next man that groped her with his eyes, or laid a finger on her. But the nature of their relationship was the Little Bird’s to dictate, not his, and he wouldn’t presume otherwise. 

What he’d told Lord Blacksmith was true, he’d take whatever she offered and be grateful for it.

Speaking of Lord Blacksmith, he was not in the Hall tonight, but the Umber lad, the one who was clever enough to understand strategy during their meeting earlier, shoved aside a Cerwyn to clear a spot for the Little Wolf to sit, and poured her a cup of wine. 

Sansa came to stand behind Brienne, and looked across the table, giving him the smallest hint of a smile. The tiny twitch of her mouth enough to warm him, and his own lips twitched in response.

“Lady Sansa! You’ve come to share a drink with us? Sit, sit, my Lady, let me pour you a cup!” Tyrion greeted her drunkenly, and began reaching for an empty cup and full flagon, sloppier about it than his one-handed brother.

“No, my Lord, but thank you. I just came to ask Lord Clegane if he wouldn’t mind accompanying me into town tomorrow after breakfast. I have some business to attend to, and have need of an escort.”

Her eyes met his again. That little twitch.

Of course the big wench pipes up. Offers to take Sansa into town the following day if she can wait, but Jaime Lannister gave her a swift kick under the table, and the smallest shake of his head to shut her up.

“Aye, that’s fine. My horse could use the exercise.”

Sansa walked around the table and came to stand before him, hands clasped at her skirts and her tone still formal.

He wanted to pull her into his lap. Kiss the spot on her neck where it was still the tiniest bit red from his previous kisses.

“Thank you, my Lord. Shall I meet you in the stables after breakfast then?”

“Aye, I’ll be there.”

She nodded to him and turned to her sister. “Arya, are you coming up, or staying a bit?”

“I’ll finish this cup, then I’m going to the archery butts.”

“In the dark?” one of the Cerwyn lads asked.

“Enemies don’t just try to kill you during the day”, she retorted. 

He had to laugh. Little shit.

The Umber jumped in to say he and his younger brother would come along as well, as they could do with some practice. The three drained their cups and bid everyone a goodnight. The lad certainly was clever.

Perhaps he should take a lesson and make off with the Little Bird for a bit.

“Would you like me to see you back to your chambers, my Lady?” The big wench again. Fucking Hells. Did she ever shut up?

“No, you stay. I’ll see her back. Going that way anyhow. I’m tired.” Sandor rose.

“Thank you, My Lord.” She smiled up at him.

Brienne narrowed her eyes at them, but Jaime apparently gave her another kick.  
“OW. Are you quite sure? It’s no trouble my Lady…”

“Oh, I think Clegane can manage to not lose her between the Hall and the Keep.” Tyrion piped up, with a wink to him.

Thankfully Sansa took his arm before anyone else could blather something, and he walked her back through the Hall.

This time he didn’t mind the eyes.

As they took the stairs he stopped, and bent to give her a kiss as she looked up at the pause. 

It reminded him of the night in the Red Keep that he had caught her on the Serpentine Stair. She had be running from the Godswood, and was flushed and breathless. That was the first time he had recognized the woman that she would someday grow into, emerging from the child. This woman grown, that he was at long last kissing on a different stair.

Just as he was pulling her into him, they heard someone coming down the steps above, and broke apart. Continuing their way up, she chirped a polite greeting to the Lord, or knight, or whoever the fuck he was, that passed them.

When they reached her door he kissed her again. Her arms flew around his neck as she kissed him back, that same slow, deep kiss that stirred him almost instantly. 

He picked her up and held her to him, growling low against her lips, wanting to run a hand under her skirts, see if she had replaced her lost small clothes. The thought of perhaps not finding them there making him even harder.

But being in the corridor, he thought better of it before her sister showed up with her new dagger, or any maids came scurrying along, and set her down.

She smiled and placed her hands on his chest. “It seems we’ll have a day to ourselves tomorrow, Sandor.”

“Aye, clever bird.” He was taking in her eyes, her face, her now-red lips, and running his hand down the long braid at her back, trying to compose himself.

He drew the braid over her shoulder, pulled out the grey ribbon, and began unplaiting her hair with his fingers. As he worked he gently ran his fingertips through the soft waves, combing them lightly down over the curve of her breast, slowly. Once. Twice. Again.

It wasn’t helping his composure. 

He took a deep breath. “I better say goodnight now, Little Bird, or I won’t be able to at all.”

She smiled and reached for the ribbon in his other hand, and he playfully held it out of her reach. “I lost the last one, this one I’m keeping. A little favor from my Lady.”

“Alright, you may have it, and be sure to keep this one safe.” She cupped his cheek and drew him down for one last kiss. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Sandor.”

“Goodnight, Little Bird.”


	24. Country-Well

Chapter 24 – Country-Well

*Sandor*

He fell asleep with the Little Bird on his mind, and woke up with her there as well. 

After washing up and dressing for riding, he went down to have breakfast in the Hall. He found Gendry sitting alone and joined him.  
It was early, and others were just beginningto arrive. 

The boy was still dressed for a another day working in the forge, as he did every day, both before and after becoming a Baratheon. 

Sandor could see this one more comfortable holding court in the Smithy at Storms End, leather apron over his house velvets, and swinging his hammer between petitioners.

“You headed out today Clegane? Gendry asked. “The others left earlier, before dawn.”

“I'm escorting Lady Sansa to town. She has some business. Best get yourself to town soon as well, you’ll be needing some Lordly clothes before you ride into your new castle, and they throw you out for a beggar and lock your own gates on you.”

“Didn’t think of it. New clothes. You're right. But I wouldn’t even know what to ask for.”

“Take the Little Wolf with you. Or speak to Sansa, she’ll know what to tell the seamstress to outfit you with.”

“So you’re on a first name basis with Lady Sansa now, are you? Arya said there was something going on between the two of you.”

He glowered at the boy for a moment. 

"And you're on a first name basis with Lady Arya. Never mind the Lady Sansa and I. You keep whatever the Little Wolf tells you to yourself, you hear?”

“Of course. I’ve always kept her secrets.” He looked down, studied his plate. “I’m going to miss her.”

“You've got a bit longer till you go. Plenty of time for a tumble her whenever she let’s you.” 

“We’re not doing that anymore. Figured if she won’t be my wife we’d just go back to the way it was. Friends. She’s going to help me find a wife, though. A Northern girl. She said if I’m left to it on my own I’ll end up stuck with ‘some grasping Storm Lord's halfwit daughter', or worse. She not wrong. And she’ll never marry me. Says she’ll never marry anyone because nobody makes her go queer and wobbly. Women are odd, Clegane.”

He laughed so hard he almost choked.

*Sandor*

Sansa was already in the stables when he arrived, at the door of Stranger’s stall, talking to the horse in a low voice. 

“Don’t bother, he won’t be telling you any of my secrets, girl.”

She smiled over her shoulder at his approach. 

“Perhaps I’m telling him some secrets of my own? I figured it was time we got to know one another properly, since we didn’t get the chance on our last ride.”

“All you need to know is that he’s a big grouchy fucker like me.”

She laughed. “Well he’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman with me so far, haven’t you boy?”

He was shocked to see Stranger snort in agreement and allow her to pet his cheek. He normally would have taken three fingers off by now. She wasn’t even holding an apple.

He shook his head at the both of them.

She stepped aside to let him enter the stall, and watched quietly as he saddled the horse and led him out.

Tom came to tell them that her mare was already saddled and ready in the yard. She thanked him, and he bobbed a bow.

"The boy works hard," he nodded towards where Tom ran off, "but with the number of horses that will probably be left behind once the armies ride, he'll need some help."

"You're right. Which also brings to mind that I'll need a steward soon as well. It was all manageable on my own when we first came back, but there's so much more to do now."

"And your guards."

"What of the guards?"

"Nothing, I'll speak to your sister about them. Let her handle it. She at least scares the piss out of them. You just turn them into stammering idiots."

She just quirked a brow at him. 

He purposely took a bit too long and got a bit too close backing her up to her horse and helping her mount. Left his hands around her waist longer than necessary after she was in the saddle. He loved the smile he got for that, and could tell she wanted to lean down and kiss him. 

He was going to make this a good day. Make up for that last ride.

Once they were through the gate and on the road to town, he thought of his promise to Stranger. 

“How well do you ride, Little Bird?”

“Well. Why?”

“You ride ‘city-well’, or ‘country-well’? With Ladies you can’t be certain. Most of you grow up just trotting your pretty ponies to picnics.”

“Sandor, look around you. This is where I grew up. Do you see a city anywhere near? I ride well.”

“I promised Stranger a run today. He’s been restless standing around all day.”

“He sounds just like Arya.”

“I wouldn’t say the Little Wolf’s name too loud around him. They have history.”

“I suspect all three of you are peas in a pod.” She laughed. “But if you want to run I’ll have no problem keeping up, I assure you. Shall we go then?”

He eyed her grey mare a moment. She was a fine horse, well bred, and spirited, but not stubborn. The Little Bird sat her well. 

He nodded.

With that she kicked her mare into a trot, and then again, leaning into a run.

Stranger snorted and threw his head at the challenge, and they were off as well.

It was wonderful to see Sansa enjoying herself, hair and cloak streaming behind her, turning to him and laughing as he overtook her.

She did ride surprisingly well, and while his stallion was considerably larger and stronger, the mare clearly loved to run.

After a while they slowed their horses back to a trot. All four of them breathless. 

“Was that riding well enough for you Sandor?”

“Aye, ‘country-well’.” he chuckled. “You’d have probably beat us without all those skirts flapping about.”

They had come to the stream they rested at during their last ride, and once again stopped to rest and water the horses. 

This time, when he helped her from her horse he didn’t have to let her go, and caught her mouth with his before he even set her down.

He loved how she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself close with abandon. 

It was some time before he noticed the horses had left them to their kissing, and had led themselves to the stream. 

He took her hand and they followed. 

Between the riding and the sun that was out today, they were both ready to shed their cloaks and have a drink. 

He stowed the cloaks in their saddle bags, and brought out his flagon of wine, offering it to her first. See, he could be gallant.

She took a sip and sputtered.

“Strongwine? In the morning? Are you trying to get me drunk again Sandor?” She japed. 

“I do enjoy you a bit drunk Little Bird, but we can’t have you falling off your horse. Give it here, I’ll get you water.”

“No no, the wine is lovely, I just won’t have more than a few sips.”

She handed it back to him, and he took a deep drink of it. 

As she sat on the boulder by the streambed and smoothed her windblown hair, he noticed her dress. It was a soft grey. Not her usual black. He didn’t know much about Ladies dresses, but he knew enough that the blue embroidery on it was done by the Little Bird’s own hand, and that it was a much simpler style than her usual leather and fur Lady Stark dresses. 

With her hair down and tousled from the wind, the pale dove of the dress, the color in her cheeks from the ride, and the smile on her face, the overall effect was a new softness about her. 

He came to crouch in front of her. Just looked at her a moment. 

“You’re so beautiful, Little Bird.”

Her face grew serious, and he thought for a moment he had said the wrong thing. But then she reached out and took his face in her hands.

Her kiss was the only reply he needed.

The taste of the wine on their tongues was delicious, and it was more than the sunshine warming them now as he sat and pulled her into his lap. 

But again it was the horses with more sense than the two lovers kissing in the sun. They had drank their fill at the stream, and were now headed off, careless of their riders, towards the grassy hills.

“Sandor, I think the horses have decided to ride for town without us.”

“Fucking horses.”

He reluctantly let go of her and went to gather them back.

“Does she have a name?” He asked of her mare as he helped her mount.

“No. I never got around to choosing a name. She was actually a Bolton soldier’s horse. She threw her rider when a band of them came upon us heading to Castle Black. Brienne and Poderick killed the men, and all their horses fled… except this one. It was as if she wanted to come with us, which was fortunate, because we had only two horses. I had been riding double with Brienne for days.”

He laughed. "Well there was a bit of mercy for you, Little Bird. Name her that. Mercy."


	25. Lead With The Mare

Chapter 25 - Lead With The Mare

*Sansa*

They reached town, and left the newly named Mercy and Stranger with the stable boy at the Inn. Sandor even asked his name, and gave Everett the stable boy a silver to make sure he watched the horses well, and gave Stranger extra feed if he wanted to get in his good graces.

She had to laugh at this new fondness for names he had of late. He had even learned his chamber boy’s name.

He accompanied her as she stopped at the various merchants she needed to settle accounts with, and fell automatically into his former King’s Landing role of Sworn Shield, standing a step behind her, and only nodding politely as he was greeted or acknowledged. She kept having to tug at him to join her at her side.

After a while her stomach reminded her it was nearing midday. Sandor must have been starving, but hadn’t said a word. 

“I only have the seamstress left to see, afterwards shall we stop at the Inn to eat?”

“Aye. I just need to see the tanner. About a new bridle. I’ll see you to the seamstress and have you wait on me there?”

“Alright. Then we eat. I’m famished!”

At Milly's shop, he knocked on the door and announced her as he had done with the other merchants, but she was taken aback at the response he received from Milly.

“G’Day m’Lady, how wonderful to see you! You’re looking just lovely! And look who you brought along! G'Day m’Lord giant!” she teased with him, then turned back to Sansa. “About ran out of string to measure this one with, I did.”

“But look how handsome you are in the new clothes!" She smiled up at him. "And the jerkin fits just lovely!” She was patting him on the chest, and smoothing her hands over the soft leather. 

Sansa tried to keep the look of surprise from her face. He was even looking a bit amused at Milly's attentions.

Apparently Sandor had made a friend in town. 

A pretty enough little seamstress friend.

Who had her hands on his chest. Still. 

But as usual, her courtesies were never forgotten. 

“You did beautiful work Milly, he looks very handsome indeed. The needlework on it is exquisite. You know I enjoy making my own gowns, but I’ve been so busy lately, I’m thinking to have you make my next. I'm afraid I’m going to have to somehow manage one more feast before the Queen’s armies leave Winterfell.”

“Oh m'Lady, I’d be honored!”

So as she and Milly began to discuss fabrics and styles for her next gown, Sandor took his leave for the tanner’s.

“I won’t be long, my Lady. Wait here for me, and don’t go walking about alone.”

“I’ll be here my Lord, planning a gown takes us girls a bit.” She teased. 

Once he was gone Milly dropped her voice and leaned in.

“If I might be a bit bold, does m’Lady know him well? The Hound?”

“Yes, I know him quite well. But he’s no longer called the Hound. He’s Lord Sandor Clegane. His house is in the West.”

“Well he’s a right fine man, he is. Everyone’s heard of the Hound, heard the stories, but to meet him, why he’s a lamb. And the way the men speak of how bravely he and the others fought for us! Built like the Warrior too, that one! Gods! I could feel every muscle when I measured him. Like to give a girl thoughts! Fine man.”

Sansa did her best to hide her smile at Milly's obvious fancy. You had to credit the women of the North. Nothing superficial about what turned their heads. Give them a big strong fighting man, and they were in love.

They spent the next half hour picking fabrics and planning the gown before Sandor returned. 

Before they could leave he excused himself, and asked to speak to Milly privately for a moment. The girl looked almost undone at the request. 

They finally took their leave of the seamstress amidst a bevy of her well wishes, and headed for the Inn. He looked down in concern when she took his arm.

“Relax Sandor, you’re my escort, not my servant. I can hold your arm if I like. And I like.” 

He put his hand atop hers for the briefest moment in acknowledgment. 

“So what was the secret for Milly’s ears only?”

“Jealous, Little Bird?”

“No. Although the girl did get a bit handsy, didn’t she? Then she was positively swooning about you once you left us. 'Oooh, the infamous Hound'.”

“Well well. I knew I liked these Northern girls.” He smirked. 

She shot him a look. 

“Bloody hells, you could be your sister with that look on your face.” He japed.

Her look intensified, and he laughed.

When they got to the Inn the Innkeeper recognized her immediately, and in a frenzy of fawning led them to a table, and called for the serving girl to bring them the best wine and dishes from what the cook had prepared for today’s midday meal.

“I need to travel with the Wardeness of the North more often. This sort of attention could grow on a man.”

She kicked him under the table.

“No need for violence. You could have all the titles in Westeros or none at all, and you’d still be my Little Bird first.”

“That’s better. Now a toast.” She raised her wine cup. “To a perfect day outside of the castle, finally, for the Little Bird and the infamous Hound.”

“Aye, to a perfect day.”

*Sandor*

The meal was good and the wine the Wardeness warranted even better. But the best thing was to be able to sit and eat with her. Talk with her. Not having to watch her perched at the High Table at the other end of the room. Turns out he likes conversation well enough when it’s with her. 

With no more business in town, they fetched the horses from Everett. He brought out Mercy first, and then ran back in for Stranger. 

“He’s a fine horse m’Lord. Never seen a courser so large as him, and not one hair on him that’s not black as ink. Has a temper on him for sure, but I figured out to lead with the mare, and he’d follow along nicely enough." 

“Ha! Smart lad. You’ll find that method works for men as well as beasts.” 

They mounted, and turned their horses back North. 

As they passed the tanner’s shop, the last dwelling before the open road to Winterfell, the tanner’s wife Tessa came out with a broom in hand to sweep her step. She spotted them and called out. 

“Safe journey home to ya m'Lady, m’Lord!”

Good people, these Northerners he thought again. 

They rode out at a lazy pace, neither in any rush to get back. The afternoon had turned unseasonably warm, and the sun shined down on them without a cloud to be seen. He enjoyed the way the red of her hair shone in it.

When they got back to the stream, they were all hot, and ready for a drink. Once the horses were drinking, he filled a skin of water for Sansa, drank the last of his wine, and filled his wineskin with water as well. He brought her the skin and she drank eagerly. 

He removed his jerkin, stowed it away, rolled up his sleeves, and went to kneel at the stream beside Stranger to splash the cold water over his face and hair. 

When he got up, the Little Bird was next to him with her underskirt in her hand.  
“Can you fit this in your saddlebag as well? It’s far too warm for it today.”

“Now if I knew all I needed to do to get a Lady out of her skirts was take her riding, I would have saved myself a lot of trouble and spent my coin on a stable of horses.”

She laughed. “Well so far in the last two days with you, I've lost a shift, a pair of small clothes, and two ribbons. But there weren’t any horses involved.”

She folded the layers of fabric and handed them to him to stow away. He almost couldn’t close the saddlebag over it all.

She knelt at the stream then, wet her face, and took the two small braids out of her hair, smoothing it all back with wet hands. 

He watched her every movement with rapt attention. 

When she stood and began to plait her hair into one long braid, he approached her.

Without a word he took the strands of hair from her hands into his, and continued to braid. Her hair felt so smooth and soft between his rough fingers, and he could smell the scent she used to wash it with. When he reached the end he gently laid it across her shoulder for her to fix with her ribbon, and kissed the back of her neck.

“If you keep tending to my hair you’re going to make Evvie jealous.”

“Too bad for Evvie. I love your hair.”

“Where did you learn to braid?”

“Had a sister. Once. Few years younger. I used to help her with her braids when they’d come loose so my mother wouldn’t scold her for running around and playing with me.”

She turned and put her arms up around his neck, fingers weaving into his hair.

“You’re full of surprises, Sandor Clegane.”

And she kissed him. He’d never get tired of her kisses.


	26. Gods be Damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when the fluff is fluffiest... we have some drama, of course. 
> 
> * And a quick Thank You! to all who have been kind enough to leave comments. When I was just a reader on this site, I'd see writers thank their commentors, and say "You're the reason I keep writing this story!". Now that I'm writing and posting a story of my own, I know it's the truth! I started this story for myself, but will be finishing it for you ❤

Chapter 26 - Gods be Damned

*Sansa*

If she had to explain to someone why she loved this man, a man most saw as brutal and ill-tempered, she would tell them of the small moments. Because the small moments are what, then and now, stopped and stole her heart.

Kneeling to dab the blood from her lip.

Draping his white cloak around her naked shoulders.

The soothing murmurs into her hair to calm her after the riot.

His tears when she sang.

Stroking the lock of hair from her face on the battlements. 

Dancing for her.

Kneeling to kiss each of her scars.

Placing her necklace on for her.

Braiding her hair.

Because these were the moments when he showed his soul. It was gentle. 

But she would never tell anyone, because these moments were hers alone to cherish.

As they came over the rise, their horses side by side, and Winterfell came into view, they saw him against the setting sun.

The enormous green dragon almost looked to blot out the remains of the half-sunken sun as it descended to land in the West field. 

“Jon's home!” “Your brother’s home.”  
They said at the same time.

"The others will be back soon too, with The Magnar and Alys. We probably should have returned earlier, but it was so nice to be away, together, for a while.”

“Aye. Hard not to prefer riding and eating and kissing to planning ambushes and fighting invading Thenns.”

She laughed. “It was a day well spent, wasn’t it?”

He held out his hand for hers, and pulled it in for a kiss. 

“Now back to fucking fire breathing dragons, Thenns, and mad ginger Wildlings.”

“Free Folk. 

"Fine, Free Folk."

Race you?”

He laughed “Aye.”

Once they reached the Stables she left Mercy with Tom, and Sandor to tend to Stranger, and went in search of Jon.

She looked in the family solar, his chambers, and the Hall, finally finding him in the Library with Bran. 

Bran retired there some evenings to do whatever it was that Bran did when he stared off into nothing intently. It seems the quiet helped him.

They were already discussing the situation. Although between Jon’s clipped bluntness, and Brans obscure utterances, it was hard to call it a discussion. It was more just an odd exchange of information. 

“Jon, welcome back.” She gave her brother a quick hug. 

“So I assume Bran told you about the Thenns, and Val and the baby?”

“Yes. I didn’t think they were still alive, any of them.” There was something in his face she couldn’t read.

“And the Magnar, and Alys Karstark? You were with them up at Castle Black. Is he a good man? Trustworthy?”

“I believe so. Can’t know for certain.”

"Bran told you of our plan? Arya's plan, I should say."

He sighed heavily. "Yes."

She could tell he was deeply troubled by all of it.

“Jon, you know why we have to do this, and can’t let the Queen know? If it’s true that she can never produce an heir of her own, this baby is the last of her bloodline. And since I don’t expect you to someday have children you plan on naming as Targaryens and handing over to the Crown, this may be her last chance. We can’t risk her giving the North to yet more people who want to invade it and take it.”

He looked tired. And sad. 

“I would like to think that Dany wouldn’t, but I can't presume to know her mind. She’s a good person Sansa, but like all of us, she’s been hurt before, betrayed, lost those she loved. She’s taking Ser Jorah’s loss harder than I would have thought. He meant more to her than I had known. So yes, I understand why we have to do it this way. Doesn’t make it any easier. Feels like treason.”

“What would be the alternative Jon? Let the Thenns offer up the child, and hope she doesn’t take him? I won’t gamble the North on that. Subjects are subjects. Why would she care which of them sit in our cold castles a thousand miles to the North of her Capitol? Castles that have belonged to Northern families for centuries. I will negotiate with the Thenns if they’re willing, and they will be welcomed here along with the other Free Folk, but on terms, under an alliance, not as invaders. The Queen can find another method of succession.” 

He nodded. “I know. And Val will never give up her nephew. She’d die to keep him.”

“Then we have you’re support?

“Of course. You’re my family. The North is my home. But Sansa, this must never get back to Dany.”

“If we’re successful, it won’t.”

She hated seeing her brother so heavy hearted with worry and conflict. She wished she didn't have to ask this of him, but if he still intended to settle North of the Wall once the Queen took the throne, this concerned his future as well.

“Well, enough for now, you must be hungry and tired. Why don’t I have dinner brought up to your rooms so you can eat and rest. I can send for you when Arya and the others return."

“That would be perfect. Thank you, Sansa.”

Bran, who had been staring off out the darkening windows during the conversation, suddenly turned to them.

“She’s been hurt.”

Not a moment later the Library doors banged open and Gendry barreled into the room.

“M’Lady, Jon, come now, it’s Arya!”

*Sandor*

He had just finished getting Stanger bedded down for the night, and was on his way to the Hall for some dinner when the cries went up at the back gate.

Changing direction, he got there just as Brienne was riding through the gate shouting for the Maester. At her heels rode the Umber boy, Jonah.

When he saw the boy had the Little Wolf before him, slumped sideways against his arm, unconscious and with an arrow in her neck, his blood went cold.

Fucking Hells.

The others were riding in behind them, but he saw none of it. Before the Umber had even stopped his horse he had the Little Wolf in his arms and was halfway to the Maester's rooms.

He about knocked the man down on the stairs, and they both continued up to his rooms. He took the stairs two at a time, mumbling both prayers and curses to no God in particular. 

Maester Paul, thankfully young enough and spry, kept up with him, and after jumping ahead to open the door, swept his worktable clean of parchments and books, and directed Sandor to lay her on it.

He saw then that someone had known enough not to have tried to remove the arrow, but had wrapped clean fabric around her neck and under her arm tightly to keep it secured. There was another arrow in her thigh, only piercing the outer flesh.

As he stepped back to let the Maester work, the Umber ran into the room, followed by Gendry, Jon Snow, and Sansa, pale and panicked. 

Sansa met his eyes as she flew to her sister's side and took her hand. 

Jon Snow stared at the Little Wolf on the table. “What the hells happened?” he demanded. 

The Umber spoke, still catching his breath. 

“My Lord, five of their men fell on us just as we met up with the Magnar. Was easy enough to take them down, Ser Brienne did for two of them, Arron and I took down two, and Lady Arya took one herself with an arrow to the eye. We thought we had them all. During the fight I heard Lady Arya say something about their fox, but no one noticed when she rode off in the direction the Thenns had come from. Once the fighting ended, I went looking for her. Found her on her horse a ways back, just inside the woods, but she didn’t answer when I called out to her. Like she couldn’t see or hear me. Next thing I knew an arrow came from the trees, took her in the neck. They had an archer in there, he must have been flanking them, but was slower on foot. By the time I spotted him and took him down, she had taken another arrow to the leg. She was somehow still sitting her horse when I got to her.”

“And you wrapped the arrow?” Sandor asked. The boy nodded. “Smart lad. She might have bled out right there in the woods otherwise.”

The Little Bird met his eyes again when she heard that, and went even whiter. “Maester Paul, how bad is it?”

The Maester had unwrapped the wound to inspect it, and was now pouring something over it. “Not as bad as it could have been. But it will still be a delicate removal, and there’s a danger of causing more bleeding, but if all goes well once the arrow is out, she should recover, my Lady.”

“Oh please, Gods.” She exhaled. 

The Maester asked for Samwell Tarly to attend him. “Lord Tarly has had enough training to assist me in the removal, and it will be smoother going with a second set of hands.”

A page was sent at once, and found Tarly already on his way to the Maester’s chambers, pushing Bran before him. The fat Lord must have pulled the boy in his rolling chair up all those steps.

“I got Bran and came as soon as I heard. I’ll wash now and help you prepare, Maester."

“We’re sorry we ran out and left you Bran.” Jon told his brother. 

“It doesn’t matter. I saw it. It was Nymeria she sent for the fox." He said in his flat manner.

No one had a chance to ask what the hells he was talking about because Maester Paul was asking them all to leave, so he and Tarly could begin removing the arrows. 

Sansa wanted to stay with her sister. She was fighting tears, but holding herself together. 

“I’m afraid it could be a rather delicate procedure, and we’ll need to be very careful. It would be best if you left us to it, my Lady. I promise to send word the moment she can be seen again.”

“Come Sansa, she’s in good hands. We need to go see to the Magnar and Alys. Bran, you’ll come with us? And Clegane, take Lord Umber and let the others know what’s happening. Gendry as well, we’re going to need him, and he can be trusted.”

Sandor nodded to Jon Snow, and took another long look at the Little Wolf on the table. 

When he met Sansa's eyes, his face must have given away his worry, because she let the tears in her eyes finally fall.

When he left with the two boys in tow, his chest was still tight. 

Gods be damned, the girl better be alright.


	27. The Magnar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the info I used here on the Thenn people is from ADWD, per Wiki of Ice and Fire. Book canon paints a much different picture of them as a people than the show... seems they were quite civilized, not vicious cannibals. The Wiki on them is an interesting read if you're interested. I did borrow their physical characteristics from the show Thenns, because I thought they looked pretty cool... 😁

Chapter 27 - The Magnar

*Sansa*

Despite being worried sick for Arya, she and Jon went to greet their guests.

Thankfully, Brienne had the good sense to usher them to the private family solar the moment she saw that Arya was being tended to. 

Sansa wasn’t sure how many of the people in the yard that evening may have recognized Alys, but the Magnar cut a memorable enough figure for them both to become quick gossip.

She had planned to introduce them as they were, she couldn’t very well hide them, but she hadn’t counted on having to explain their escort coming under attack, and her sister being brought through the gates with an arrow in her neck.

She was so very glad Jon was here with her, she only wished Sandor could be by her side as well. 

In the solar they found Brienne and Jaimie Lannister sitting with their guests, and all seemed comfortable.

Brienne rose to announce Lady Sansa Stark and Lord Jon Snow to Sigorn, the Magnar of Thenn, and Lady Alys Karstark. 

Sigorn was a large man, not so tall as Sandor and the GreatJon, but tall none the less, and built wide and muscular. When he began to recount their survival of the Long Night and journey to Winterfell, she found his Common Tongue heavily accented, Thenns spoke the Old Tongue of the First Men, but even so he was quite eloquent. 

What she had previously heard of the Thenns was that they were savages and cannibals, but the tales told were untrue. 

“The land of Thenn is well removed. Most other tribes never risk the perilous climb over the Frostfangs to learn we are a cultured and organized people. We have our own governance, with Magnars similar to your Southern Lords. But because of our looks we are called savages. We speak the Old Tongue, are learned, and are of the First Men.”

His look WAS quite shocking. Besides his height and muscled width, he was completely hairless, with ridged and valleyed skin on his face, covering his head and neck, hands, and probably his entire body. Eyes as black as night completed the picture. If he was any example, the Thenns were a fearsome looking people, but she knew enough by now that looks mattered little.  
She liked him. She could tell Jon did as well.

Alys Karstark was tall and plain, with that long, distinct Karstark face, a sharp nose, long dark hair, and grey eyes. She was sweet though, and spoke with a keen intelligence Sansa appreciated.

And she was very much in love with her husband.

She sat close, touched him often, and in turn, his fearsome face softened any time he looked her way or spoke her name. It made Sansa smile to see them together. 

Ser Jaime then asked a question that had come to her as well.

“You’re still called Lady Karstark, do Thenn brides not take their husband’s names?”

“Thenns have no surname, so there is none to take. Sigorn says if we were in Thenn, I would be referred to as “Alys, Wife of the Magnar Sigorn” Alys explained.

“But I am no longer Magnar. They have chosen another. Olvar he is called. Not a bad man, but ambitious and rash, as his choice to invade your lands shows. I’m sure he took the girl and the baby seeing them as his best chance to advance his goal.”

“And his goal?” Sansa asked. 

“To have our people live as the Lords of Westeros do. In castles, with fine horses and steel. To feel summer and spring along with winter. Many of our people wish for it, yet refused to come South when Lord Snow gave them the chance, choosing the Old Way. Now he takes my place and chooses invasion instead.”

“Would he be willing to negotiate with us if we could come to agreeable terms?”

“Not while he has the baby, and a way to have all he wants, with the Queen’s backing.”

Sansa looked at Jon. He gave her the smallest nod of resignation. They would have to go forward with their plan to rescue Val and the baby. They both knew it.

But she was starting to see a way to move forward omce that was accomplished. A way that wouldn't bring more death than necessary upon the Thenns. 

Bran seemed to read her thoughts, or saw whatever he saw, and looked over at her. Until this point, he had been quietly watching the fire, and listening to their conversation. 

"Yes." He said to her, so quietly no one else heard or paid any attention. 

She looked away, wishing he wasn't always so unsettling, or that she'd one day get used to it, at the very least. 

It was getting late, and she was anxious to go check on Arya. There would be time for more discussion tomorrow. She could think more clearly once she knew her sister was alright. 

Sansa rose. “Sigorn, Lady Alys, you must be hungry and tired after your long journey. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see that chambers, baths, and hot meals are prepared for you. I'll send someone to escort you once all is ready."

“Thank you, Lady Stark,” Sigorn rose and gave her a nod, “Alys and I hope for good news of your sister soon.”

“Thank you. As do we. I’ll be checking on her as soon as I have your accommodations arranged. I look forward to speaking to you both again in the morning.”

She nodded to the others, and forced herself to walk calmly from the room, not run.

*Sansa*

Once she had left the solar, she did run. First to Evvie, to ask her maid to see to accomodations for their guests, then up the four flights of stairs to Maester Paul’s chambers.

In the hall outside his closed door, she found Gendry, Jonah Umber, and Sandor, all sitting on the floor.

The two boys were playing half-heartedly at cards, and Sandor was nursing a skin of wine, sitting with his back to the Maester's door.

They all rose as she approached, and Sandor shook his head at her hopeful look. “No word yet.” 

Her head dropped, and she felt the tears sting at her eyes again. She needed him to hold her, but she couldn’t go to him.

Her sadness flared into an angry frustration. Here she was, the Lady of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North, the most powerful woman North of the Neck, and she couldn’t seek the comfort she needed, from the man she loved, as her sister lay gravely injured. It wasn’t right. 

Just as she was about to abandon decorum and throw herself into his arms, others be damned, the door opened, and Samwell stepped out.

“It’s done. It went well. She’ll be asleep the rest of the night, perhaps into tomorrow, but barring infection, she should recover just fine. Maester Paul said you can see her now my Lady, but the rest of you will have to wait until tomorrow. If that’s alright.”

She was so relieved she swayed on her feet, and Sandor took her arm to steady her. 

Both Gendry and Jonah looked equally relieved, and promised to return in the morning. 

“I’ll wait right here for you. Go. See her.” Sandor told her.


	28. Yes

Chapter 28 - Yes

*Sandor*

He walked with the Little Bird back to her rooms once she left the Maester's. She looked exhausted, but he could still feel the tension in her. Her brother Jon had arrived moments after she had gone in to see the Little Wolf, and was still with the girl now.

"How is she?"

“Maester Paul assured me the worst is over, but she just looked so pale. So small. Sometimes I think it's madness that this tiny girl is running about fighting with her sword and dagger and bow. I should be keeping her from getting herself shot through with arrows, not encouraging it. She could have died tonight.”

“We all could die tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Just the way life is."

“Don’t try to tell me you weren’t frightened for her, Sandor. I saw it in your eyes.”

“Just so, I know better than to think I can keep her from doing what she wants. Learned that years ago.”

She sighed, and he understood, but the Little Wolf was who she was. Nothing, not even an arrow to the neck, would change that. 

Once they reached her door, he took her in his arms, and pressed his face into the hair at her neck. Just held her and breathed her in for a moment. 

He felt the exhaustion and tension battling in himself as well. Both the fear for Arya and frustration of wanting to comfort Sansa earlier, and not being able to do anything for either. 

This is what you chose, he told himself. You can’t have everything. 

She put her arms around his neck and rested her forehead on his shoulder, and they just held each other. When he finally felt her relax, it was as if all the wind had gone out of her.

“Time for bed, girl. You need rest. Tomorrow will come soon enough."

She nodded against his shoulder, but held him tighter for a moment. When she let go he kissed her softly. 

“Goodnight, Little Bird.”

*Sandor*

After he left Sansa, he went to do something that he hadn’t done in years. He set off for the library to find a book. 

As a child he loved to read, and enjoyed the time he and his sister had spent with their Maester. That is until something happened, he never knew what, and his father sent the Maester away.

He didn’t want more wine, was getting tired of waking up thick-headed, but knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep any time soon.

He had been to the library here only once before. Had dragged the Little Wolf out of it and away from the dead during the Long Night. It looked back in order now, and had a vast number of books. 

The large hearth had already been set with a crackling fire, and the chairs placed around it were large and comfortable looking. So large he was startled when he finally noticed Brandon Stark seated in one. 

“Lord Sandor Clegane.”

“Raven Brandon Stark. Didn’t mean to disturb you. I came to borrow a book.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“To the library?”

“Yes. And to the North. To Winterfell. To Sansa."

"To Sansa."

"Yes. Time stretches on forever, but the parts we get to call our own are short.”

“That they are.”

The boy, the Raven, whatever the fuck he was, just looked at him, and he looked back. After a moment, he spoke again. 

“The blue bound book, there," he turned his head and pointed to a nearby shelf, “has tales of sea adventures and serpents. You’ll like it.”

He walked over to pull down the book. Stories of sailing ships and fearsome sea serpents were his favorite as a boy. As he glanced through the illuminations, the Raven had more to say.

“A man can’t always take what he wants, but he can always ask for it.”

“The book?”

“No. Everything.”

He left the library bewildered. All he wanted was a bloody book. Should have stuck with the wine.

The conversation with the boy had unnerved him, but he picked up the book after he got into bed anyway. He was now more in need of distraction than before.

He must have fallen asleep after the candle guttered out, laying the book on his chest and thinking he’d only close his eyes a moment, then fetch another candle. The book had interested him enough that he wanted to keep reading. 

It wasn’t the sound of the door opening that woke him, but the figure standing at his bedside removing the book from his chest.

“Little Bird?"

She was in just a shift, with a dressing gown tied loosely over it. Her hair was down and all around her shoulders. He reached out to touch her arm, not certain he wasn’t dreaming. 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

He rolled onto his side and shifted over to the middle of the bed, wordlessly lifting the cover to her in invitation. She slipped off her robe and climbed in next to him. 

He still wasn't entirely sure he was awake.

She turned on her side to face him, propping her head up in her hand, looking down at him. Then her cold toes found his legs.

Now he was awake.

“Gods girl! Other's take your icy little feet!”  
She just pushed them against him harder and moved herself closer.

He reached up to pull the hair falling over her shoulder through his fingers, then ran his hand down her side. 

“Nightmare?”

She shook her head. “No, just too much to think on, and I wanted to see you.”

He felt along the dip in her waist, the rise of her hips under his palm. When he reached the hem of her shift he slipped his hand under the fabric, and up the backs of her thighs, to feel the curve of her bottom and the small of her back. All he met with was her bare skin.

“You seem to have lost another pair of small clothes.”

She leaned over to kiss him, and then pulled away, held his gaze, and ran her hand over his chest. 

“Seems that I have.”

Her shift had traveled up along with his hand, and he reached around under the bunched up fabric to run his fingers over her stomach, down to graze the soft patch of hair between her thighs, then back up to circle her breasts. 

Her skin gooshfleshed as he traced her curves, and taking one perfect breast in hand, he ran his thumb over her taut nipple. 

Her eyes stayed on his as he reached down to pull her leg up over him, and her hips into his.

She slipped her free hand up the back of his neck, pulling his lips to hers, and kissed him with a sudden hunger, her leg tightening around his hip to press herself into his hardness. 

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, the passion of her kisses taking his breath away. When she broke their kiss and sat up, his lips felt rudely abandoned for a moment, until he saw her pulling her shift over her head.

There was only a soft flicker of light in the room from the fire burning low in the hearth, but her pale skin seemed to draw it all in.

Like a man entranced, he reached out both hands to her. He traced her collarbones, the lengths of her arms, her breasts. She sat still, and watched him as his hands circled her waist, grasped the hips straddling him, held her bottom, caressed her thighs. 

When he let his fingers slide between her legs, and found the silky hair there damp and curling, he went even harder. It was almost painful. 

She rose up off of him, and slowly pulled down his small clothes. She let them fall onto the rug atop her shift, and kneeling next to him, began her own exploration.

He watched as she ran both of her hands up his thighs, pausing to trace the scar she found there. She continued on, and he couldn't help but moan and throw his head back when she smoothed one palm along his hardness, stroking it slowly up against his belly. So she did it again. 

She was going to kill him this instant. 

Her hair brushed against him as she took her time spreading her hands up his stomach, and across his chest, feeling each muscle. 

He was so caught up in the feeling of her touch that he almost didn’t hear her whisper. 

“I don’t think you know that you’re beautiful too, Sandor.”

Before he could think of a reply, she straddled him again, and leaned down to kiss his neck, his throat, then his mouth, long and deep. 

“Gods, Little Bird”, it was almost a sob, pleasure so good it was almost pain, as she took him in hand and lowered herself slowly onto him. 

It was all he could do not to spend himself at the sight of her sitting up, with him deep inside her, palms against his chest and her eyes locked onto his, beginning to rock her hips slowly around him.

Never in his life had he had a woman touch him this way, take him this way, want him this way.

Yet here she was, his Little Bird with the Lady Wolf in her eyes tonight, and she did.

His mind thought back to the feast, just two short nights ago, when he saw how every man in the Hall watched her body move in that slip of a dress, and he knew every one of them wanted to both fuck her and fight for her, and yet here she was, with him. He wouldn’t just fuck and fight for her, he’d kill every man in Westeros and beyond for her if need be.

As her breath caught and he felt her pleasure coming on, he held her to him and turned her onto her back. Her legs wrapped around him and her fingers dug into his back. 

With one hand pressed above her head and her bottom grasped in the other, he held her hips to his and lost himself into her again and again. 

***

Afterwards, she fell asleep with her back tucked into him, and he felt the rise and fall of her breaths against his chest. He decided that moment he never wanted to spend another night without her next to him.

If the Gods were real and they had given him this, fuck them if they thought he'd ever give it back.

‘The parts of it we get to call our own are short'

It echoed over and over in his head as he fell into sleep.

*Sansa*

She awoke just as the sun was coming up, and could hear the birds start to sing outside. 

Having turned in her sleep, she was now curled up under Sandor’s arm, with her forehead pressed to his side. He lay sleeping on his back, gently snoring, the bass of it rolling through her. 

She uncurled and stretched out against him, propping her head up in her hand as she had last night. She liked to look at him while he slept. It was the only time his face was completely relaxed and free of tension. 

They had lost half the covers, but he was so warm up against her she hadn’t missed them. She ran her fingers back and forth lightly through the hair on his stomach, and thought about last night. 

“That tickles, girl.”

She smiled and kissed his neck.

“I have to get back to my chambers before Evvie comes knocking to wake me. If she finds me missing she’ll raise the whole castle.”

He rubbed his face, and turned to watch her slip out of bed and retrieve her shift from the floor. As she slipped it over her head and reached for the robe she had tossed on the chair he sat up against the pillows and said, “Little Bird, marry me.”

She turned to him, her expression probably looking as shocked as she felt, but took the hand he was holding out to her. “Marry me. I don’t want to spend another night without you, or see you have to sneak off at dawn. Marry me, and you can remain a Stark. My house is too low for you to have to take my name, and I don’t give a fuck about it anyway. I only want you. Marry me.”

Her mind went back to the Maester’s corridor last night, how badly she had needed him to hold her, her frustration that he couldn’t. 

But he could. They could. Who could tell them no, really?

She had stayed alive and fought her way back through those who had used and hurt her to become the bloody Wardeness of the North, for Gods sakes! This should be her time to live as she pleased. She was finally in control. She was the Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. 

And the Lady wanted nothing more than to marry the man she loved.

She crawled up on the bed and over to him, cupping his face in her hands and kissed him.

“Yes.”


	29. No Sers

Chapter 29 – No Sers

*Sandor*

He had asked. Which was a shock to himself, even as the words were pouring out of his mouth. And she had said yes. With no other reason to do so than she loved him, and wanted to be his wife. Which was even more shocking. 

Sandor Clegane, the Hound himself, was going to have a wife. And not just any wife, Sansa Stark. 

She had left him with so many kisses he almost pulled her back into bed. She promised to find him later when she could, but needed to dress and see to her sister, then meet with her brothers. The Thenns headed towards Winterfell with their hostages could arrive as soon at tomorrow, and she was hoping Bran might know something more specific today.

He wanted to meet this Thenn that had arrived yesterday, not having even taken notice of the man in all the chaos. He had only been worried about the Little Wolf.  
But now he wanted to get the measure of the man, and know what they would be up against. With the Little Wolf down, they may need to add a few more men. 

His mood was so good he startled poor Trey when he came from the bedroom to the solar. Apparently a smiling m'Lord was almost too much for the boy.

Breakfast in the Hall and then a morning in the training yard was his plan. He had too much nervous energy for any standing around this morning, and with a fight coming tomorrow, he’d feel better for swinging a sword today.

Gendry was in the Hall, sitting with a few Winterfell men he recognized, but couldn’t name. Seemed Lord Blacksmith was making more friends. The men were starting to seek him out now that they saw the work he did. He had to admit the boy had a talent with steel. Should probably have him make a new new sword to replace his old one before he rides for Storms End.

The men were finishing up and leaving when Sandor came to sit down. They all exchanged nods of greeting as they passed. 

“Morning.” Sandor said to Gendry as he sat. 

The boy looked startled. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing’s wrong with me. Can’t a man say good morning?”

“Not you. You’re usually a grumpy fucker.”

“Got nothing to be grumpy about yet this morning. That could change if you don’t quit your yammering.”

“Ah, there we go. That’s more like it. Say, have you heard anything more on Arya? I went to see her before breakfast, but the Maester said she was still asleep.”

“No, but Lady Sansa is dressing and should be seeing to her shortly. Sure she’ll send word once the Little Wolf is up and causing trouble again.”

“So you were with the Lady Sansa before she was dressed then?” said the boy with a smirk.

“How about you shut the fuck up already.”

The boy turned his attention back to his breakfast, but didn’t stay quiet for long. 

“That Lord Jonah seemed awfully concerned about her last night. Arya. What do you suppose that’s about?”

“I suppose it's about him saving her life.”

“Oh.” he said, and returned to his meal. 

“And that he’s stiff in the breeches for her.”

The boy's head jerked up. “What? For Arya? Why? She’s not a Lady. I mean, she is, but she’s not. Not like a real lady… I mean…”

“Save it. I’m headed to the yard after this to train, why don’t you grab that ridiculous hammer of yours and come show me what you can do with it. Might be you’ll need to be swinging it tomorrow. And go find those Umber boys and bring them along as well.”

Lord Blacksmith nodded and rose. It gave him a chuckle to think he had just ordered the Lord of Storms End scurrying from his breakfast. 

As he sparred with the men and boys already there, he could see that many of them were improving. Nothing like surviving a battle like the Long Night to remind you that you better learn how to handle a sword well and keep your skills sharp. 

Gendry came along with the Umbers after a bit, and he put them all through their paces.

The boy handled the hammer well enough, and he was strong, but it was a slow weapon. His father may have preferred it, but Robert Baratheon had a head and a half on the son, was built like a bull in his prime, and was a madman in battle. Bloodlust made a difference. 

The oldest Umber, the one whose days touching and dancing with his Little Bird were over, was good with his sword, and would get better with time. He'd bloodied it twice now, and was starting to swing it with more determination than flourish. 

The youngest Umber was a quick little shit, but didn’t have the strength or endurance yet to fight for his life. He would need to let Jon Snow know it would be best he stay out of the sortie tomorrow. No sense getting the boy killed, he'd be a valuable fighter in a few years.

Now the middle lad, the one with eyes for Arya, was the one to beat. He was quick, strong enough, and could read and play his opponent with ease. He was already of a size with his older brother, and had a few more years left to get even bigger. This one was his father’s son.

Brienne had found her way out to train as well. She watched them all for a while, and he could tell by her comments that she was of the same opinion of the lot. 

“Have a go with me Clegane? See if it turns out better for you this time?” She was waiting for Poderick to arrive for his daily training, and was tired of standing around. 

“You going to kick me in the balls and hit me with rocks this time?”

“I’ll try not to.”

It turned out to be the best match he’d had since the Kingslayer had two hands. The wench was good. Freakish big, and freakish strong. 

They were both spent afterwards, and sat sharing her water, then his wine. 

“This Thenn you brought in last night. What do you think.” She knew he wasn’t asking about the fellow’s manners.

“Big enough, strong, but untrained. He fought well against his own, but against trained knights, it would be no match.”

“Then may be I should stay home, ‘Ser Brienne’. Without a 'Ser' of my own I may be done for tomorrow.”

She laughed. “You know what I meant. I don’t need the ‘Ser’. And neither do you. You know it as well as I do.”

“Aye. Seems we’ve been knocking their dicks in the dirt just fine without it for this long. One reason I like it up here. They don’t give a fuck for ‘Sers'.”

“No, they don’t. Tell me about the other reasons you like it up here so well. Wouldn’t have anything to do with the Lady Sansa, would it?”

“I’ll tell you all about my reasons right after you tell me about Jaime Lannister.”

That shut her up. She went all big-eyed and sputtering. He had to laugh. “Relax Ser, nobody gives a shit, except may be his sister.”

Her squire Poderick ran up and saved her before she went from red to purple and decided to kick him in the balls after all.

“My Lord, Ser Brienne, the Starks are requesting you gather the others and meet them in the family solar at once. The sortie will ride tonight.” 

*Sansa* 

The joy from her morning with Sandor was short lived. 

She was disappointed to find Arya still asleep when she went to see her. Maester Paul assured her it was a good thing, she needed rest to heal, but she had so wanted to see Arya awake and truly still alive. It had been too close last night. 

Afterwards she met with Jon and Bran over breakfast. Bran told them he had seen the Thenns, and they were closer than expected. They would arrive late tonight, and whether they meant to camp and approach by daylight, or continue on by dark, they needed to be dealt with tonight. 

Jon sent for Sigorn, Samwell, and Tormund, and along with Bran shut themselves up in the solar to discuss plans. She had no problem leaving command in Jon’s hands, and went to see to having the nursery cleaned and prepared for Val and the baby. She wondered if he had a name? He couldn’t just be ‘the baby’ once he was here. 

Once she was satisfied that all was being readied, she went to find Alys Karstark. She had a few things she needed to discuss with her, and the sooner the better. 

Later, when she finally had a few moments at midday, she returned to her chambers to freshen up, intending to go find Sandor.

She smiled to herself just thinking about him. Them. Last night. Her cheeks still went red and her stomach wobbly just recalling it. He had woken something in her that she hadn’t even known existed, and she liked it. 

She changed into a lighter gown, a soft blue with grey embroidery, and of a lighter fabric as well. The day had become a bit warmer. Sitting to brush her hair, she decided to wear it loose, with just a jewelled barrette to keep it out of her eyes.

'I love your hair.' He had said. She pictured his hands in it, him winding it around into his fist the way he liked to do. Tugging her head back gently to kiss her neck...

Evvie's knock snapped her out of her reverie. Her maid had been sent with word that Lord Jon was ‘gathering everyone in the solar’ and was requesting her presence. 

Well, she knew where to find Sandor now.

*Sandor*

It was the same lot in the room, with the addition of Gendry and the Thenn. And no Little Wolf. He sighed, and saw the arrow again in her little neck. 

Sigorn the Thenn was a sight. But who was he to talk? Up here where no one seemed to care, he had almost forgotten HE was a sight as well.

He looked around for Sansa but she wasn’t there yet.

His mind drifted off for a moment as he recalled her hands on his body last night, those long legs wrapped tightly around his hips, her gasps in his ear… until Jon Snow began to speak.

He began by telling them of the advanced position of the party, and then went over their plan.

While he listened to Snow, Sandor thought again how the boy was a natural leader and fighter, and the irony that he wanted no part of either role. 

“We’ll stick with Arya's original plan, because it’s a good one. But with the Thenns arriving at night we need to modify it just a bit. While Bran can see them, he can’t communicate with us once we've left, so I’ve sent out two scouts, Stark men I trust. I want them well ahead of the Thenns. Their wharg is dead, so that gives us an advantage. We’re twelve now to their 20, but we have to assume they’ll have archers flanking them, if yesterday was any example. But if we plan for it and take them unawares our number should be sufficient. I’ll have Ghost along as well.”

“And Nymeria.” Bran turned to them.

Just as the puzzled look crossed Snow's face, the doors to the solar opened, and Sansa rushed in. 

“Apologies all. Jon, Arya’s awake, and wants to see you. Now. She’s causing quite a fuss, and Maester Paul is afraid she’ll tear her stitches moving about.”

“Alright, I’ll go see to her. The rest of you, prepare yourselves, as it stands we ride out at dusk, from the North Gate. We’ll need to stay ahead of them. Bran advises we should be in place to intercept them…”

The boy had a rare smile on his face, “At the hour of the Wolf, of course.”


	30. Wolves and Whargs

Chapter 30 - Wolves and Whargs 

*Sansa*

After having to end the meeting abruptly, Jon asked Samwell to help him bring Bran up to see Arya as well, the Raven apparently had something to say to her. 

Before the men and Brienne left the solar, she asked Tormund, Ser Jaime, and Sandor to remain a moment. 

“Tormund, if all goes well tonight, I’d like to meet with you, Sigorn, and Val tomorrow about terms for the alliance we spoke of. There may be a way to end this without having to kill every Thenn that came South of the Wall."

“How could it not go well tonight with this group of fighters! Ha! And I even have a new axe to blood! Double sided, castle steel, fresh from Lord Blacksmith’s forge! Only thing better would be two of them!”

“That’s wonderful, Tormund. Your new axe sounds lovely. It’s a shame you never got to meet Lord Tyrion’s Hill Tribes. You would have loved Shagga.”

Both Ser Jaime and Sandor barked out laughs. They had been quite familiar with Shagga as well.

“I sort of liked that mad fucker. Had my brave white brothers pissing in their boots.” Sandor said.

“Just like how you like me, Clegane. You just won’t admit it.” Tormund smiled at Sandor. 

“Shagga did like axes.” Ser Jaime added. “Only my brother could talk his way through the Vale, not only without being killed by the Hill Tribes, but bring them home to the Red Keep with him as well.”

“Ser Jaime, that’s why I wanted to speak with you. I know it can’t be easy to keep this from your brother, but I trust you understand why it has to be this way.”

“I do my Lady. And I appreciate your faith in me, despite having little reason for it. I’m not sure what future it is your brother spoke of me playing a part in, but I have pledged myself to House Stark, and I mean to keep that pledge. There’s nothing more for me back in Kings Landing or Casterly Rock. Brienne, Ser Brienne, told it true when she vouched for me.”

Sandor snorted, and Tormund grumbled something about the fancy fucker stealing the big woman. Sansa ignored them both.

“You have House Stark’s gratitude for that, Ser Jaime. And speaking of Lord Tyrion, I haven’t seen him since the night before last?”

Now it was Tormund who laughed, “He stole himself a woman.”

Sansa quirked a brow at them.

“It seems my brother has met a woman. The night you came to the Hall to speak to Clegane, my brother proceeded to get very drunk, and was very upset that, in his own words, ‘everyone was getting fucked but him'. Seems this outburst peaked the attention of a lovely little Wildling woman. They wandered off, and haven’t been seen since.”

“Free Woman.” Tormund noted.

"Free Woman." Ser Jaime corrected.

“He left with her?” Sansa was shocked. 

“No, not exactly, my Lady,” Ser Jaime smirked, “they haven’t left the castle, they just haven’t left his chambers.”

Sansa blushed at the implication, and all three men were laughing now. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll come out eventually. Or you could have the servants stop bringing him his meals and wine?” Jaime suggested. 

Sansa thought a moment, then smiled, “No, actually, I’m going to send up an elegant dinner and fine vintage of wine to the two lovers tonight. Since Lord Tyrion can’t know about any of this, let’s let him at least enjoy himself while it's transpiring.” 

“Clever bird.” Sandor laughed. 

“Most clever, my Lady.” Ser Jaime added, “it will be unknowingly appreciated.”

“Well then, Tormund, Ser Jaime, I better let you see to your preparations for tonight. Lord Clegane, I just need a word with you in private, if you don’t mind?”

“Heh! I don’t think he’ll mind a bit, will you Clegane? Ha!” Tormund said as Ser Jaime practically dragged the big man out the doors.

She blushed again. Seven Hells, she wished she could control that!

Once they were alone Sandor came to where she stood. “Best not waste those red cheeks, and that pretty dress girl.” He grabbed her up into a kiss. When he finally set her down it was on weak knees.

Gods, what this man does to me. 

She took a moment and composed herself, but still couldn’t resist running her hands over his chest.

“Sandor, be careful tonight. And see to it that nothing happens to the baby. Please? I worry he may get hurt in the fighting. Tell the others too?”

“No need to worry, Little Bird. We’ll take the girl and the babe with no trouble tonight. And look, it will be the first time I ride off with the favor of a beautiful Lady.” He pulled her grey ribbon from the inside pocket of his jerkin. 

“Do you want me to tie it onto your sword properly, with a kiss?”

“Bugger that, I’ll not have it flapping about on my sword to get bloodied. I was told to keep it safe. The ribbon stays on me, but I’ll take that kiss.”

She was happy to oblige, and more than just wobbly when he left her lips.

“Alright, best I go see to my armor and Stranger. Won’t do to be the last ones at the gate. How do you plan to explain this lot all gathered at the gate and riding out armored for battle tonight?”

“Sweeping the woods for raiders. The Northerners are used to dealing with raiders, and enough time has passed that it’s feasible some could have come up from the South, or be Free Folk not honoring the truce after the Long Night."

“That might be a bit much to swallow knowing Winterfell still has an army and a dragon camped on its doorstep.”

“Well, it will have to do. They can wonder about it, as long as they don’t know the truth of it.”

“Then best I say goodbye now. Don’t think to come to the gate waving your little handkerchief at us all either, you already draw too much attention.”

She laughed. “I won’t. Then goodbye for now, Sandor, and please come find me as soon as you return?”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her again. “Aye, I’ll come find you, Little Bird.”

He looked at her intently for a moment, then crouched before her and reached under her skirts, running his hands up her legs.

“What in the Heavens are you doing?” she laughed. 

“Making sure you haven’t lost any more small clothes. I’ll get myself killed tonight for sure if I’m thinking about you back here with nothing on under your skirts.”

“And?”

“They’re here.” He said looking up at her while running a finger under the hem around one thigh.

When he stood, she put her arms around his neck, pressed herself against him, and brought his ear down to her lips. “Come find me when you return and they won’t be.”

*Sandor*

Fucking Hells. How he walked out of that solar without taking her right there he didn’t know. 

Back in his rooms he called Trey for a bucket of warm water, washed up quickly, and put on a clean set of the sturdier breeches and tunic Milly had made for him. He ate two of the warm rolls stuffed with meat and cheese Trey had brought along with the water. The smart lad had figured out that not unlike Tom and Stranger, keeping him well fed made him less grumpy.

“Trey, do you know how to fasten armor?” He had been seeing his own armor on and off for years, but it went quicker with help.

“Yes, m’Lord, I used to help Lord Rob with his armor before he left.” 

The boy looked down respectfully for a moment after speaking of Rob Stark, and for some reason it caught Sandor in the chest. 

For the first time he took a good hard look at the boy. About thirteen, but small for his age. Dark hair, and those grey Northern eyes.

“Alright then, start with the mail and breastplate and let’s get this all on.” 

After he left his rooms he took the stairs up two floors and knocked on the Maester’s door.

Before the man even opened it all the way he heard the Little Wolf. “I don’t want to bloody sleep. I’ve slept enough! Who is it there?”

The Maester gave him a pained look before stepping aside. He snorted a laugh.

“Clegane! I hear you, get in here. Will you tell this fool I can bloody well sit up if I want to? I’m not going to just lay here!”

“You better just lay there or I’ll tie you to the bed myself, girl. Or I can wrap you in the blanket before I tie you, for old times sake? Your choice.”

“Uuugh!!” she growled. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to not expect an archer or two on the flank.”

He pulled a chair over to the side of the bed. Sighed deeply.

“Tell me true girl, what happened. I think I’ve put it together, but I want to hear it from you. And just lie there and don’t move around while you tell it. You’ll rip the bloody stitches.”

She exhaled and seemed to wilt into the bedding. Looked at him with those damned serious eyes. 

“You remember after the Twins, after... we camped at the Trident? The dream. My mother. How I knew she was dead?”

“Aye.”

“It wasn’t a dream. It was Nymeria. My Direwolf. After she bit Joffrey, Jory and I had to throw rocks at her to get her to run, so Cersie couldn't have her killed. We were at the Trident, then too. She must have stayed in the Riverlands. You and I would make camp, and I would sleep, but it wasn’t sleep. It was Nymeria. I was in Nymeria. Running, seeing, smelling, killing, feeding. I didn’t know it was more than dreams myself until that night. The night we found my mother. Her body. In the river."

Two tears fell from the corners of her eyes, into her hair. He hung his head and looked at his feet. 

“When I came back from Braavos. To Winterfell. She was here. In the North. She came home too, but not with me. She has a pack of her own now. A mate. Pups. But the dreams that weren’t dreams started again. Stronger. I could suddenly decide if she was to hunt the stag or the boar. Which of her pups to nuzzle or nip. How fast to run.”

“A wharg.”

“A wharg. Not as much as Bran, but more than Jon.”

He looked up and met her eyes. “And Sansa?”

“She lost her wolf.”

He was back to that night. The butcher’s boy. Hearing Lord Eddard had been ordered to put down the sweet tempered wolf pup that belonged to the sweet tempered Stark girl. The one with the red hair. He saw her eyes just as red, day after day, from night after night of crying for her wolf. In the morning she’d smile with her lips, but never her eyes. She lost her wolf.

“And last night?”

“I was in Nymeria. I found the fox, their wharg. Killed it clean, one snap. Didn’t even feel the arrows. Until I came back. To myself.”

“The Umber boy killed the archer, saved your life.”

“Jon told me.”

“And tonight?”

“I’ll be there.”


	31. Celebration

Chapter 31 – Celebration 

*Sandor*

They never intended to wait for morning. It was said the new Magnar was ambitious, turns out he was also impatient. And dead. Sandor had the pleasure of seeing to that himself.

The Thenns had twenty four men if you counted the archers, which he didn’t, because the wolves rooted them out and took them down so quickly it was as if they were never there. Poetic justice from the Little Wolf herself, he was sure.

Brienne was right, the Thenns fought hard, but were no match for skilled swordsmen, one Lady knight, a mad ginger with a new axe, and a blacksmith swinging a hammer.

He had told Jon Snow of his wish for the youngest Umber to stay out of the fray, so he was held back until given the signal to approach the Wildling girl and babe, and lead them safely away. 

Even at two to one odds it was a fair fight. It was a good fight. Good to cross swords and draw the blood of a living enemy for a change, and to fight for his Little Bird, for Winterfell, and for the North he soon would call home.

As they rode back to the castle he took in Jon Snow riding alongside the Wildling girl. They talked softly, and seemed to have a closeness about them. She was cloaked and hooded, so it was hard to tell what she looked like, but he could see the locks of hair that had escaped her hood were as silver as the dragon Queen’s. 

Harry Umber rode on her other side, a proud air about the boy for being placed up front with Snow and the rescued pair. Running alongside them were the two wolves. Or were they three still?

The moon was still high enough to tell him there were hours of darkness left to the night, and with the thrum of a good fight still in his veins, and the blood of dead enemies on his sword and armor, his thoughts turned to the Little Bird waiting for him back in the castle. It was all he could do not to kick Stranger into a run and leave the others behind. 

*Sansa*

She had sat with Bran and Samwell for a while, but grew impatient when her brother could give her no more information than ‘They have the baby’.  
Good, she thought, but what of the others? 

She tried to visit with Arya, but Maester Paul told her she had just fallen asleep, exhausted from her first day awake and yelling at everyone. 

She was too anxious to sit in her rooms, so she went where she always went when she felt this way. Up to the battlements. 

It was a mild night, with a soft breeze blowing. The days had been warming steadily since the Long Night. She hoped it was more than a false Spring. It would do much for her people to return to their homes and begin their lives anew with warmth and the sun to welcome them.

She looked out towards the Wolfswood, but only saw darkness where she hoped to see riders. The knot in her stomach still tight. If they already had the baby, and all went well, they should be back soon. 

She hadn’t gone out to see the party off, as she said she wouldn’t, but she did watch them assemble and ride out from the covered walkway to the Keep. To see these people she loved once again mounted and armored for battle tightened her throat, and moved her lips into a prayer. 

It would have been a good idea to take a lesson from Sandor, and have brought up a goblet of wine to settle her nerves. 

But then she heard him before she saw him. 

The chink of mail as he took the steps two at time. 

When his form finally blocked out the torchlight in the archway, she exhaled. 

“Oh, thank the Gods, Sandor!”

“It’s done Little Bird.” He said as he strode towards her.

As she met him he picked her up around the waist and crushed his mouth to hers. He smelled of blood and steel and horse.

The intensity of his kiss took her breath and she wrapped both her arms and legs around him in a flood of relief and desire.

He backed her up to the wall of the Keep and slid his hands under her skirts, gripping her bare thighs, her bottom. In the morning she’d have bruises but tonight she didn’t care. 

She held him tighter as he unlaced his breeches, and gasped as he entered her fast and hard. 

With his mouth on her neck and his hands clenching her bare bottom he drove into her again and again. 

Once again she had the stars above to turn her face to as she gasped along with him at every thrust. His intensity brought on her own pleasure as quickly as his, and her cries mingled with his growls until she was dizzy and her breaths ragged. 

Oh Gods, that was… she didn’t even have words to describe it.

She’d heard about men after battle, it was always something she had been warned to beware of, but apparently when it was YOUR man after a battle then… GODS.

She clung to him as they caught their breath, the breeze feeling like heaven on her flushed skin. She kissed his neck feeling his pulse racing under her lips, and bit him there lightly, then kissed the spot again. 

He ducked his head and returned the nip as she laughed. “Bite me again Lady Wolf and I’ll be ready to take you again right here.”

She kissed his lips. “That was…”

“A man pleased to win a battle for his Little Bird.”

He set her down gently onto legs she wasn’t sure would hold her up, and laced his breeches.

“Everyone is alright? Val, the baby?”

“Everyone is alright. Jon is with the girl and the babe in the nursery. The others are probably getting drunk and celebrating in the Hall as we speak.”

She smoothed her skirts and her hair. “I should probably go see to Jon and Val now.”

“I’d wait. Let them be for a bit. There’s something between those two. I’d let them catch up a bit. Let your brother find you once he’s got them settled.”

“Something between them? Like what?”

“Don’t know for sure. Just something.”

“Well, then, it seems I have a bit of free time. Shall we go meet the others in the Hall and celebrate a bit ourselves?”

“I just did my celebrating, Little Bird.” He laughed. “But no reason not to go have a drink.”

*Sandor*

They arrived in the Hall to find a smattering of only the most dedicated drinkers still there at this late hour.

At the High Table, additional chairs were pulled around casually to seat Poderick, Gendry, the GreatJon and Arron Umber, Tormund, and Jon Snow. All but Snow seemed to be on their second or third round. 

When the Little Bird saw Jaime and Brienne absent, she leaned over his arm she held, and whispered, “Oh, do you think Ser Jaime and Brienne are…”

“Celebrating?” he chuckled. “Aye, but say no more, I bloody hells don’t want to be picturing that. She probably has HIM up against a wall.”

Sansa laughed so hard she even drew the attention of the dicing and card playing drinkers as they walked to the table. 

Then to be sure even those passed out on their arms knew of their arrival, Tormund greeted them with his usual mad enthusiasm. 

“Clegane! And my lovely ginger Lady! Come for a drink! Ah, it was such a sweet fight, girl. Broke in the new axe with two swings! Fuckers didn’t even know what hit them!”

“Stop yelling and hand us down some cups you bloody fool.” Sandor growled. 

Her brother smiled as she took a seat next to him. “I see Clegane found you with the news? Val and Mason are sleeping now in the nursery. She didn’t want to leave him, so I had them bring in a bed for her there. I’ll introduce you in the morning.”

“Yes, Lord Clegane told me all went well. And that the new Magnar is dead along with all the rest.” She said.

“He is. Clegane did for him first.”

“Tomorrow morning after I'm introduced to Val, I’d like it if the two of you could join me in meeting with Tormund and Sigorn. We need to come to terms for a formal alliance with the Free Folk as soon as possible. I’d prefer to present it to the invading Thenns when we confront them, rather than just slaughtering them. Give them the option to join us peacefully now that their Magnar is dead.” She told her brother.

His Little Bird was a clever Wardeness already. 

“Of course. I’m sure all would prefer to settle this peacefully. It’s a good plan.” He smiled at her.

Sandor had taken a seat across the table from Sansa, afraid if he sat next to her he wouldn’t be able to keep from touching her. They would have to tell her brother and the others of their betrothal eventually, but he’d leave it up to her as to when. 

He was happy enough now to just sit and have a drink with the men he was coming to consider as friends, and see Sansa smile, sip her wine, and listen to the table tell their accounts of the battle. 

Arron Umber slipped him more than a few glances, seeming to put a few things together in regards to his Wardeness and Sandor Clegane, but said nothing. The GreatJon was already too far into his cups to notice or care about anything more than ‘driving those fuckers from my castle’ and challenging Tormund to more arm wrestling. 

When the Kingslayer and a smiling Brienne finally joined them for a drink, he and the Little Bird met eyes over their cups and tried to contain their laughter at what they were both undoubtedly picturing. 

The sun would come up eventually and tomorrow bring new concerns to be dealt with, but tonight had been a good night.


	32. The Something

Chapter 32 – The Something 

*Sansa*

When she woke the next morning she did indeed find a pattern of little bruises that marked where Sandor’s fingertips had gripped her last night. They didn’t hurt, and instead made her flush to remember the intensity of their celebration. 

When Evvie knocked and entered to help her dress for the day, Sansa asked only for some warm water to wash with, and told the girl she’d see to her gown and hair herself, claiming the need for solitude to contemplate her morning meeting. It was true enough, and she couldn’t very well have Evvie running downstairs telling the other maids that Lady Stark had giant fingerprints on her arse. She stifled a laugh at the thought.

She dressed in a lighter grey and white gown, and styled her hair in a single braid. Leaving her chambers, she took the stairs up one flight to see Arya. 

She found her sister propped up with pillows and chatting with Lord Jonah. 

Chatting. With a smile on her face. On both their faces. She was about to quietly leave them to it, but curiosity got the best of her.

“Good morning Arya, Lord Jonah.” 

The boy stood to give her a polite bow and a ‘my Lady', and she leaned over to give Arya a kiss on the cheek. 

“It's good to see you up.", she smiled, "You must be feeling better, you’re not even yelling at anyone.”

Her sister shot her a look. “Jonah and I were discussing the sortie last night. He refuses to brag, but he took down two Thenns himself.”

“And how would you know this, you were asleep in bed. I had come up to see you.”

She saw Arya and Jonah exchange a look. Interesting. 

There was an odd gleam in her sister’s eyes and a smile playing at her lips. She fancied this boy! And they were already sharing a secret apparently. 

Poor Gendry, she thought for a moment, looking at Jonah. He was a handsome boy, tall and well built, with dark hair and dark eyes. Eyes that had the same gleam in them as her sister’s at the moment. 

“Well, I’ll leave you two to your battle tales. I just wanted to see that you were up and well. Shall I ask Maester Paul if you can be moved to your chambers later today? I’m sure you’d be more comfortable.”

“Yes, please. I had the same thought. Those ravens quorking all day and night are driving me mad. I was about to ask Jonah to fetch my bow.”

The two laughed together, and Sansa took it as her cue to leave.

When she reached the family solar, breakfast was just being served. In attendance were her brothers, along with Val, Sigorn and Alys, and a surprisingly chipper looking Tormund, considering how drunk he was last night. 

Jon stood when she came in, and brought her over to introduce to Val. 

At first glance she could have been the dragon Queen. 

Upon second glance, Sansa could see Val was older, more of an age with Jon or even a few years past. She was taller than the Queen and slight, but with something confident and strong about her movements. Her face was lovely, a true beauty, despite a seriousness about her that reminded her of Jon.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Lady Val. I hope it’s alright to address you as such? You’re sister was Queen Beyond the Wall if I recall correctly.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well Lady Sansa. You can address me however you like, it makes no matter.” Val smiled, and it softened her look. “Thank you for sending your men after Mason and I. I’m very grateful. I know what Olvar meant to do with my nephew, and I probably would have gotten myself killed trying to stop him.”

“That’s exactly what Jon said. That you'd die before you'd let anyone take him."

Val looked over at Jon when she heard that with a wry, but affectionate smile. “He knows me well.”

Ah. So there it is. The ‘something’ Sandor saw. 

So many 'somethings' going on around them all.

It struck her that very moment how life and death were so very balanced. Despite the wars and losses, amidst upheaval and change, love still managed to slip into the cracks and uphold the living. Otherwise, why keep living in the first place? What was there without love? And it was happening all around her, just as flowers forced their way up from the frozen soil after the thaw. It's what every living thing did to continue on.

Val had left Mason with the girl Sansa had chosen to serve as his nursemaid during their stay at Winterfell, so after they finished their meal she was able to stay, and along with the others, they began to discuss terms for an alliance between the Free Folk and the North. 

When they emerged from the solar several hours later, they had a plan to retake the Northern castles, settle the Free Folk, appease the Northern Lords, and rebuild the Northern houses. Now she just prayed it would all work.

*Sansa*

She had so many things to see to, her head swum, but at the moment, all she wanted to do was be with Sandor. Just for a bit. Then she would get back to all that needed to be done.

Her search for him took her to Arya’s room, where her sister had been resettled while she was locked away in the solar. 

When she entered she found both Sandor and Gendry sitting with Arya, and they were discussing a new sword Sandor wanted made. 

She knew her sister had few secrets from Gendry, so she decided to free herself of her own secret for a few blessed moments. After she entered and greeted Arya and the men, and they took their seats again, she went to Sandor’s side, and placing a hand on his shoulder, leaned in to kiss his cheek. 

Gendry’s eyes went wide and her sister muttered “Ugh, please.” But she didn’t care. The look on Sandor’s face alone was worth it.

“So a new sword?” she said to the group as she took a seat on Arya’s bed.

“Aye, figured I better get Lord Blacksmith to make me something new before he heads off to Lord over the East.”

Arya agreed. “Your old sword is shit. And Lannister steel to boot.”

“That shit sword saved your scrawny arse enough times, girl.”

“Regardless, Gendry will make you a fine new one. He knows of a way to work the steel to make it lighter and hold an edge better. It’s not quite Valaryan steel, but almost.” She replied. 

“And you should let me extend the pommel. I know yours is already two-handed, but that’s for two regular sized hands. Man your size needs one longer."

“Always did have a few fingers off the end, but got used to it. A better fit will do.” Sandor said nodding his approval. 

“And the design for the pommel?” Gendry asked.

“Plain. Like the old. Don’t need anything fancy about it, just needs be sharp when I swing it.”

They spoke about swords a while longer, and Sansa watched her sister. It was wonderful to see the easy rapport she had with both Sandor and Gendry. 

What she didn’t see was the gleam in Arya's eyes for Gendry that she had when she was speaking to Lord Jonah. Perhaps she and Gendry WERE simply good friends now. Anything was hard to know for sure when it came to Arya. 

She finally had to take her leave, her long list of tasks still to be seen to today creeping back to mind as she rose from the bed and gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. 

“Well I’m off. I have to see the cook about planning what I hope is the last feast for a while. Would you like me to have anything brought up to you?”

“No, what I’d like is to get out of bed.” 

“Not until Maester Paul says it's alright. I would expect you’ll need to resign yourself to it for at least a few more days.”

Arya rolled her eyes in exasperation. “We’ll see.”

Sandor rose as well. “I’ll come with you Little Bird, I missed a meal, yammering with these two. Let’s see if I can’t find something laying about in the kitchens.”

When they got to the kitchens the midday meal was well over, and the cooks were already bustling about preparing for dinner. 

No one paid them much mind other than a few ‘m'Lords' and ‘m’Ladys’.  
She spotted Ellen the head cook, and left Sandor’s side to speak to her about their current meat stores, leaving him to his own devices. 

As she spoke to Ellen, he sidled up to Mathilde the baker woman, and filched a hot roll as she turned her back to the tray, stuffing the entire thing into his mouth. When the missing roll was discovered, Mathilde swatted at him with her towel while he reached right over the small woman for another. This was apparently not the first time she’d dealt with Sandor. Sansa fought to keep from laughing to see it.

As Ellen was giving her the news that another feast would require them to replenish their meat stores with a few good hunts, a group of three young kitchen maids came giggling into the room, hanging their cloaks and tying on their aprons. One noticed Sandor, and turned to elbow and whisper to the others. 

He had taken no notice of the maids, as he was now watching and waiting for an opportunity to sneak a leg from an unattended roast chicken. 

The fist girl, a petite thing with blonde curls and a turned up little nose, approached him like a tiny cat hunting a giant mouse. 

The girl sauntered his way while loosening the laces of her bodice, and by the time she had planted herself between Sandor and his chicken, was almost spilling out of it. 

Sansa could barely maintain her conversation with Ellen as the girl asked him if ‘m’Lord needed anything special’ with fluttering lashes and jiggling bosom, while running a finger down his arm. 

But her rush of temper turned to utter amusement when he pointed to the chicken, sent the girl to retrieve a leg, and taking it from her without a word, turned and made his way back to her side, chewing away happily. 

The girl returned to her friends looking a lot less bold.

As amusing as it had been, she couldn’t deny seeing other women throwing themselves at him stirred her blood. 

She thanked Ellen and took Sandor’s arm to leave, knowing the trio was watching, and as they passed the maids, she reached up and ever so slowly wiped a spot of grease from his lips with her thumb. 

Three sets of eyes all went wide as wagon wheels at the intimate gesture. 

The Lady Wolf smiled, and was quite pleased with herself.


	33. Fly Away

33 – Fly Away

*Sandor*

Others take him, the Little Bird had him walking around Winterfell like some drooling squire with his cock up all day just at the sight of skirts. 

Simply her touch in the kitchens had him half mad. 

As he escorted her back to the Keep, he thought how he’d like to spend the next few hours in his bed with her legs wrapped around him, but she needed to meet with a few of her Lords and Ladies.

“How did your meeting with the Wildlings go this morning?” He asked. 

“Free Folk. It went very well. We have the terms for the Alliance, and a plan to take back the castles from the Thenns. I just have a few more things to see to before we move. And you were right about Val and Jon. There is something there. She resembles the dragon Queen. It’s quite uncanny.”

“Your brother seems to favor the look.” He laughed. 

“I mean to stop in to meet little Mason this evening. Bess says he’s a sweet little thing.”

“You women and your babes. Not much use until they can talk though, as far as I can see.”

They were almost back to the solar. “Sandor, may I ask a favor?”

“Anything, Little Bird.”

“Jon will be busy preparing the Queen’s army the next few days, and Arya needs to rest as long as we can manage to keep her in her bed, so I was hoping you and Ser Jaime could see to our guards? We never really had the chance to get the few we had left to us organized before we had to start preparing for the dead. You mentioned a problem with them the other day?"

"Why Ser Jaime and I?"

"Ser Jaime was the captain of the Kings Guard, and you led the personal guard of House Lannister and protected Joffrey for years, so I thought who better to see to establishing a proper Household Guard here at Winterfell? My ruse about raiders was just that for now, but they’ll eventually become a reality again now that the weather seems to be breaking and men will begin to travel North again.”

“And South. That’s all well and good, but when they ask why the Kingslayer and the Hound are ordering them about?”

“He’s not the Kingslayer any longer, he’s pledged himself to House Stark, and you are no longer the Hound, and soon to be Lord Clegane of Winterfell. If they take any issue with my orders you may send them to me, but they won't. They already respect you."

He laughed. “Aye then, we’ll see to it. I like when you bear your fangs, Little Bird.” He drew her hair aside with a finger and bent to playfully bite her neck. “I’ll feel better anyways, having decent guard in place before we ride on the Thenns. How long do we have?”

“You won’t be riding on them. Jon, Tormund, and I will be flying on them. With Rhaegal, and terms. If they agree, we have peace, if they don’t, then you’ve seen what those dragons can do. But I don’t think it will come to that.”

He rounded on her. "Like hells you will! NO. If you think for a moment I’m going to let you get on one of those fucking dragons and fly off, you’re mad.”

“You rode one.” 

“It was either get on the fucking dragon or be taken by a hundred thousand dead men. That’s not the case here. Send your brother, send Tormund, fuck if I care, but you’ll stay right here on the ground where you’re safe.”

He could see her color rise, but this was no sweet blush. Her eyes turned hard.

“This is the only way. I will NOT march more Northern men out to be killed if there’s a way to avoid it. I understand your concern, but...”

“YOU’RE NOT GETTING ON THAT FUCKING DRAGON!”

Her face went to stone, and her voice was ice.

“It seems you’ve forgotten, so let me remind you. I am Lady Sansa Stark, the Wardeness of the North, as my father was Warden before me. This is my DUTY to the North, and I WILL serve it as I see fit. I will not hide in my castle just because I wear skirts. I may not be able to swing a sword, but THIS I can and will do. If you can’t accept that, then perhaps you should rethink your proposal of marriage to the Wardeness of the North.”

She turned and was gone down the corridor. 

Bloody fucking hells.

*Sansa*

She was so angry, she saw nothing but red as she rounded the corner, and bumped into the GreatJon. 

He must have been on his way to meet her in the family solar. She had sent for him first once she decided it was time to speak with her Lords. 

When he reached out and grabbed her arms to keep her from toppling back, it reminded her so much of Sandor she could have burst into tears, but what had she just told him? She was The Lady Sansa Stark. So she composed herself.

“Pardons, Lord Umber, I was rushing about and not paying a bit of attention.” She puffed a little laugh.

“No pardons needed Lady Stark. I wish more beautiful Ladies would come crashing my way! Ha!”

He offered her his arm, and they continued on to the solar, his great size and bulk so similar to Sandor it was a comfort to her somehow. 

Once they entered the room she was relieved to find it empty. She loved her brother Bran, but wasn’t in the mood for any of his puzzles at the moment. 

She offered the GreatJon one of the large, comfortable chairs by the hearth, and took the one opposite after pouring them both cups of wine. She needed a few sips to settle her nerves before she spoke.

“Thank you for coming to meet with me. I wanted to speak with you before I called for the others. You were one of my father’s most trusted friends and bannermen, you were there for Rob, and you’re here for Jon and I now. I want you to know how much that means to me. You and your sons were here in this very room when Bran told us all we were the future of the North.”

The GreatJon set his drink down, leaned forward, and surprised her by taking her hands in his. 

“Do you know, I was here the day you were born? Can't recall why. Your father was so proud, running all about the castle to tell everyone of his new babe. And now look at you, you’re the Lady of Winterfell, my Liege, and the Wardeness of the North, and you’re already a damned fine one. I expect you may come to be even better at it than your father. I want you to know that. But if I may, can we speak plainly a moment?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“I overheard you and Clegane in the corridor just a bit ago. Didn’t mean to, but there I was, on my way here. Can’t say I’m surprised of the two of you. Should have seen it. See it now.”

She looked down at her hands and blushed.

“I’m sorry you had to learn of it like that. I meant to announce our betrothal once the issue with the Thenns had been resolved. Regaining your castles and lands are my first priority.”

“I know that. Never doubted it. Clegane makes an interesting choice for a husband though.”

“You disapprove?”

“I said interesting, not bad. And it’s not my place to approve or disapprove. It’s no one’s place. Remember that, Wardeness.”

“He’s a good man.”

“I’ve heard what I’ve heard of the Hound. But then I’ve seen what I’ve seen of Sandor Clegane. They’re the same man, and they aren’t.”

“I’ve known both.”

“You’ve also known the best of men. Your father, for one. Brothers. And you’ve known the very worst. If you’ve chosen Clegane then I trust your judgment. My Arron will be disappointed, boy’s quite taken with you, and I must admit, you’d have made me the finest good daughter.”

“And you heard our disagreement?”

“I did. He was right, but so were you. I almost laughed. That’s a rare squabble. But you have a duty to the North, and it won’t always be easy on you. If he loves you, he won’t like those times. But he’ll accept them. So don’t go running after him, let him stew a bit, work it out. Learning to deal with sharp steel and sharp women both take time. That man already knows his steel, you’ll teach him about women.”

She laughed through the tears in her eyes. She had missed a fatherly presence the last few years. Who would have thought it would be the GreatJon to fill a little of that void?

“So when do you fly away to get those fuckers out of my castle, my Lady?”

“Morning after next.”

*Sansa*

She took the GreatJon’s advice, and didn’t go looking for Sandor. Instead she met with the other Lords she needed to speak with, then went down to the Hall for dinner.

It was crowded and loud, and she welcomed the distraction of it. Val, Sigorn and Alys joined them at the high table, restarting their father’s tradition of having guests and Winterfell household join them at table. 

Sandor didn’t come to the Hall tonight, but she wasn’t surprised. He was angry, and she knew him well enough that she didn’t expect him to. 

Jon spoke quietly with Val throughout most of the meal, catching up on their different journeys since they were both at Castle Black.

Just as the sweets were being served, she saw Tyrion enter the Hall, and make his way to the empty seat next to her where Arya would have been.

“You’ve finally returned to us, my Lord.”

“Yes, well, one can only indulge in the pleasures of women and wine for so long. Duty eventually calls.”

“I heard it was your brother that came calling, not duty.”

“Him too.”

“So it’s love with one of my serving girls for you now?”

“Simply lust. A carnal celebration of life. I’ve returned the lovely girl to your service, and can now focus on storming the Capitol, seating a Queen, and politics, politics, politics.” He said wryly. 

“What if it didn’t always have to be politics? What if you could work at something else you loved?”

“Wine and women?”

“Actually, yes. I have a proposition for you to consider.”

“And Clegane and I had just become good friends. Pity. I warn you my Lady, I may need just a bit of rest before I can perform to the best of my abilities, but if you were to wear that delicious gown again, it may speed my recovery.”

“Not quite what I had in mind. Walk with me and we’ll discuss it?”

Tyrion pulled the flagon of wine off the table and two cups as they left. It was warmer still this evening, and she hadn’t bothered with a cloak. They walked to one of the larger courtyards, and sat at a bench. He handed her both cups and poured the wine.

She handed him one full cup. “I trust you’ve heard by now what befell Littlefinger.”

“I did, and I’ve never been more impressed. He deserved the justice you and your sister served him.” he held his cup up to her in toast.

“I am his heir.”

Tyrion’s eyes went wide. “Sansa, how is that possible?”

“Littlefinger had no wife, no children. But he wanted a wife. Me. And the more I spurned his affections and questioned his loyalties, the more desperate he became. I was his last hope for power. A path to the North and then back South to the throne. He made me his heir in an attempt to prove his love and loyalty. I never asked for it. I told him to destroy the documents. I wanted no part of it. But he didn’t. I found them after his trial and execution.”

She could tell he was stunned. She’d never seen her ex-husband speechless before.

So she went on.

“I have his gold. I have Harrenhal, and I have three extremely profitable brothels in Kings Landing. Three brothels which can be yours. Consider them a gift, an investment for the day you grow weary of politics, and want to live a life of wine and women instead. I’d also like to return Harrenhal and its lands and revenues to the Crown.”

“In return for?”

“The Crown’s support of an Alliance I’ve drawn up between the North and the Free Folk. Littlefinger’s gold will go to rebuild the ruined castles along the Wall and build homes and farms in the Gift so they can be repopulated with Free Folk and Northerners.”

“And how shall the Crown support this Alliance?”

“By providing the resources for a Northern Guard to keep the peace of the Alliance, and to protect the Gift from being raided into nonexistence again. We no longer need the Night’s Watch, but we need safety and security for our people. All of them.”

“Astounding.” He said after a bit. “Like I said before, you've become the cleverest woman I know. Beautiful and brilliant."

"I'm trying."

He drained his wine cup, refilled it, and raised it to her again. 

"You're succeeding Sansa. To your propositions I say yes, and yes. I’ll see that both the Alliance, and your Northern Guard have the Queen’s full support. And I shall gladly become the Lord of tits and wine besides. Even the Hand of the Queen needs a hobby. How very poetic that the rebirth of the North will come from the spoils of the very man who tried to destroy it.”

“I thought so as well.”

“How did I ever let such a clever wife escape me?”

“I flew away. Back to the North.” She smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After binge-posting all the chapters I had previously written, I'm now picking up where I left off and writing new ones. So the updates will slow just a bit, but I'm aiming for at least one new chapter daily, with the story wrapped up by New Year's :)
> 
> Huge thanks and love to everyone reading and leaving such lovely comments!!


	34. Terrifying Business

Chapter 34 – Terrifying Business 

*Sandor*

He knew she was right, even before she stormed away. But he also knew he was terrified of something happening to her. It was the sort of jape the Gods seemed to love best, to give him his heart’s desire, and then take it all away.

Knowing she was right didn’t make him want to hit anything any less though, and he ground his teeth to keep from it as he left the Keep. 

He should at least be one of those going with her. Who would keep her safe?

Her brother. The mad ginger with the giant axe, and the fucking fire breathing dragon, you cunt. You any match for that?

He turned what she had said to him over in his head. He knew who she was, she was a Stark, and that meant that her duty to her position and people would always have to come first.

Problem was that if history foretold anything, it was that the fact that she would never shy away from that duty, whatever the risk, and it would likely be the end of her. Her father, her brother Rob, her grandfather. All sacrificed themselves to duty. It was honorable, but they still ended up in the ground.

But she's smarter than them, he reminded himself. She may be a Stark, but she learned the hard lessons at the knee of Cersei. Littlefinger. She already knew how to play the game of politics, only without losing who she was. Her kindness, her compassion. Her soul.

He sighed. The truth was that she was now HIS duty. And he would sacrifice himself to it with a smile if it even meant one more day with her, let alone a lifetime. He'd give her whatever she wanted. It was never really a question, was it? Even if it killed him.

He could almost hear the Little Wolf, ‘You bloody aurochs, you better set it right.’

Aye, he better. 

A thought occurred to him, but before he could see too it, he needed to find Jaime Lannister. So he went where he knew he’d find Brienne. 

Both blonde Sers were in the training yard. The pretty one was watching his beast of a Lady love beating some poor Dothraki who was stupid enough to take the big wench on, into the dirt. 

“Lannister.” He nodded in greeting. “Not what the poor fool was expecting was it?” 

“Clegane. No, not at all. It’s been quite amusing to watch. Almost daily one fellow or another will come along and try her. She beats them all.”

“Whatever gets your cock up. I have a request from Lady Sansa. She asks that we see to the Stark guards. Winterfell needs a proper lot again. Round them up, figure out which ones are actually worth a damn, cut the ones who aren’t, and put the word out we need at least fifty more good men. Will pay good coin, good steel, and their keep. Boys are fine too, but all of them are going to start training daily. Come find me once it’s done, and we’ll assign duties and shifts.”

“I’ve been chosen to do this?”

“You and me. We know what to do. No different than leading around a bunch of Lannister swords and simpering white brothers. Except this Northern lot may actually be worth something with some work.”

“Hmm. You might be right.”

He saw the wheels turning in that blonde head. Jaime Lannister was many things, but never one to sit idle, and a chance to lead men again was appealing to him.

“And where are you off to Clegane? Don’t want to come along and bark at some swords? Scare the piss out of them right from the get go? It’s usually your favorite part.”

“Later. I’ve got business in town first. They’re yours for now.”

*Sandor*

He passed the forge on the way to the stables, and saw Gendry taking off his apron. Had another thought. 

“Lord Blacksmith. Done swinging your hammer so early?"

“Clegane. Not done. Too much to do to ever be done before the Queen’s army rides. Until then there’s hundreds of swords, spears, arakhs, helms, and horse shoes to see to. Thank the Gods none of them wear plate. But I made two of the boys apprentices. Hope that was alright. Need someone trained to replace me once I go.”

“Smart lad.”

“I gave them the forge until tonight. Want to see how they do on their own. Wess, the big one,” he said nodding to a hulk of a boy, “knows his steel and can swing that hammer for days. Roddy, the scrappy one, he's got the the real talent. He’s going to be making swords and armor almost as well as I do soon.”

“Good. We’ll need him.”

“It’s ‘we'll’ now, is it? You staying on then? What of your castle and lands?”

“Fuck my castle, it no more than a pile of rocks with a hearth. And whoever’s been seeing to it this long can see to it a while longer. You been up to see the Little Wolf?”

“Yes. She looks better. Won’t be staying in that bed much longer if she has her way. And she always has her way. The Umber was there when I arrived. I think she likes him.”

“Aye, she likes him.”

“Has she told you so, or do you just think it?”

“I didn’t come here to gossip like a wench with you. I’m riding into town. Come along and I’ll see you to that seamstress for your new clothes. Best not wait on it. I'll let you open that fat new purse and buy me a drink afterwards.”

“Alright. Haven’t been to town yet. Haven’t been out of this castle in weeks. Might as well.”

“Good. Go wash up and meet me in the stables. I’ll have Tom see to a horse for you.”

*Sansa*

After Tyrion escorted her back to the Keep, she spent some time in the nursery with Bess, the nursemaid, and little Mason. 

He was a chubby, bright eyed little boy, about two years old, just starting to say words that weren’t babble, and toddling all about. She sat on the rug with him, playing with a pile of toys she had gone searching for in Rickon's room.

When she had first entered the room, hoping her brother's toys were still there after all this time, the grief was almost overwhelming. Now to sit with Mason, she could enjoy both the baby, and the memories the toys brought of Rickon at this age.

After a while he started to rub his eyes with his chubby fists, and Bess came to take him, but Sansa waved her off. Mason curled up in her lap with his thumb in his mouth, and a handful of her hair held tight. He was soon asleep. She could have closed her eyes and been asleep in a moment as well, it was so soothing to have that warm little body against hers. 

She almost didn’t notice as Val slipped in the room, and smiled at them. Val had such a serious thoughtfulness about her face most of the time, that when she did smile, it was like a whole new person appearing. She really was striking. 

Sansa got up, carefully lifting Mason with her, and held him a moment more before passing him to Val.

“He’s a precious little one, isn’t he?” Val whispered. “Dalla would have loved him so. Breaks my heart she never even got to hold him.”

“Makes me feel blessed to have had my mother as long as I did. So many don’t ever.” Sansa said.

Val smiled again, this time wistfully. “Life and death, love and babes. It’s all a terrifying business. But we do it anyways, don’t we?” 

"I suppose we do."

She should have gone right up to her bed, she was exhausted, but she passed her chamber door and went to Arya’s instead.

When she knocked lightly, Arya bade her enter.

“How are you feeling?” she asked her sister as she sat on the edge of her bed.

“About to go mad if I have to sit her another day. Tomorrow Maester Paul says I can take a short walk around. Jonah is coming to escort me in the morning. I figure we’ll walk to the solar for breakfast. I want to meet Sigorn, and Alys. I barely got a look at them before I was shot through. Val too. Jonah says she looks like the dragon Queen.”

“She does, and she doesn’t. But she seems very nice. And she fancies Jon, I believe.”

“Good Gods, what is it with those Targaryens?”

They looked at each other and then laughed so hard they both had tears in their eyes, and Sansa was afraid for Arya’s stitches.

“Oh my, I needed to laugh. It’s been quite the day.”

“Where’s Clegane? He didn’t come up tonight.”

“We argued.”

“Fucking hells, again? Now what? Which one of you was stupid this time? And what happened today? Jonah said you met with the GreatJon privately.”

"Jonah, Jonah, Jonah... I'm hearing a lot of that name from you, sister."

"Shut up about that. Tell me all about your day instead. I need some entertainment, and Clegane angry is always amusing."

Sansa kicked off her slippers, crawled up to lie next to Arya in her big feathered, and took her hand. Arya flipped her cover over both of them.

Sansa yawned. “Where shall I begin?”


	35. A Gift

Chapter 35 – A Gift

*Sandor*

Lord Clegane and Lord Baratheon arrived back at the castle very late and quite drunk. Stranger could attest that Sandor was not so drunk as his last late night trip back from town, but it was close.

His mood was improved by his business in town, as was Gendry's. He had left the boy with Milly and her string after making introductions, and giving her instructions as to what he'd be needing. The little seamstress was beside herself knowing she was to be outfitting the New Lord Baratheon of Storms End.

After a visit to the the tanner's, he went back to retrieve Gendry, and picked up his packages from Milly. They left her flush with coin and work, and headed to the Inn to eat and drink.

The innkeep remembered him as the Lady Stark's escort, and the wine he brought to their table was almost as good as it was for the Lady herself, so they kept drinking. 

All the way back to Winterfell, Gendry had been singing songs in a voice that would scatter cats, and Sandor didn’t kill him. The wine had been that good.

Better still were the two new guards at the gate, now awake and alert. They stopped the pair and asked them who they were, and their business at Winterfell. Ser Jaime had already been busy with his new assignment. 

“I’m Lord Sandor Clegane, one of you’re two new commanders, you’ll get to know me a bit better tomorrow. This here is Lord Gendry Baratheon, your blacksmith.”

He and Gendry found that last bit extremely funny, and almost lost their seats as they laughed their way through the gate. 

The horses took them to the stables. Gendry fell from his, but Sandor managed to dismount and keep to his feet. The ruckus woke Tom, who came out bleary eyed to take Lord Baratheon Blacksmith’s borrowed horse first, then returned for Stranger.

Tom had finally won Stranger's begrudging affection, and was now one of the few who could get near him and keep all their body parts.

“Wait, I need the packages from the saddlebags.” He stopped Tom, and wrestled the two tied roughspun packages out of the bags, tucking them under one arm.

“Clegane. I think we should go to the Hall and have a drink. Celebrate.”

“And I think we're about done drinking for the night. What the fuck is there to celebrate, anyway?"

“New clothes. Love. Wine. I think I should buy my own horse. Do you think I need a horse? I don’t know a thing about horses.”

“You don’t know a thing about anything. You should buy yourself a Maester.”

“You have to buy them? I thought they just came with the castles? Will my castle have one?”

“You're drunk, go to bed boy. I’m going to find my Little Bird. Have to set it all right.” 

"I'm not drunk. You're drunk." The boy shot back, but nonetheless began wandering towards the forge, where he still kept his room.

Sandor made his way in the opposite direction to the Keep, climbed clumsily up the stairs, and to Sansa’s door. He knocked softly. Or what he thought was softly. 

There was no reply. 

Should he try the door? He should try the door. It was unbarred, so he crept in. Or did what he thought was creeping. He knocked into a stupid little table and heard whatever was on it fall to the floor. 

“Shit... Little Bird.” He whispered as he wove his way through her solar and into her bed chamber.

His foot caught the trunk at the foot of her bed, and he grabbed one of the bedposts to keep from falling. “Fuck.”

When he got to the bed he couldn’t see if she was in it or not. There was no fire in the hearth to light the room. That was unusual. 

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and setting the packages down on it, leaned over, stretching his arms out to run his hands over the covers to feel for her. He ended up laying on his face, breathing in the scent of her linens.

She wasn’t here. Where in the Seven Hells is she? It’s the middle of the bloody night. Confusion quickly gave way to worry, and he pushed himself up.

Forgetting the packages, he stumbled and bumped his way back out of her dark rooms, and to the Little Wolf’s door. He knocked, and heard the girl hiss her reply.

“Who is it?”

“Clegane. Your sister is missing. She’s not in her rooms.”

“Get in here you damned fool. Just be quiet about it.”

He pushed the door in, and was glad to see the room was softly illuminated by a low fire still burning. He was feeling almost sober now, as he always did when faced with a situation his body took as danger. 

As he approached the bed where the Little Wolf sat reading with a candle on the side table, he saw Sansa's red hair peeking out from under the cover next to her sister. 

“She fell asleep here. We were up late talking. What the hells are you doing drunk and lurking around Sansa’s chambers at this hour anyway?”

“I wanted to talk to her. Set things right.”

“Ah. She told me about your fight.”

“And now you’re going to lay into me as well? Save your breath, girl.”

“No, I understand why you said what you said. You weren’t wrong. She was just more right. It has to be done, and it has to be her.” She shrugged. “I’m a bit jealous of her actually. I’ve been asking to ride that dragon since Jon came home with it.”

“You’re both mad. Bloody Starks.”

“Go to bed Clegane. Talk to her tomorrow. Sober. You have less of a chance of fucking it up then.”

“Aye.” 

He reached out and touched the Little Bird's hair gently before he left.

He remembered the packages as he closed the Little Wolf’s door. Grabbing a torch from the corridor wall, he went back to Sansa’s rooms. 

He sat at her desk, and lit the lantern on it from the torch. Finding a clean piece of paper, he dipped her pen in the inkwell. 

‘Little Bird,  
I got you something I thought you could use when you ride. I was thinking of Mercy, but it will suit you for a dragon ride as well.  
Sandor'

He folded the paper and blew out the lantern. The packages were still on her bed, so he left them there, slipping the note under the strings that bound the largest, and closed the door behind himself as he left. He replaced the torch in the corridor on his way back to his rooms.

*Sansa*

She awoke and wondered where she was for a moment, then remembered she had fallen asleep in Arya’s chambers last night. 

Her sister was still asleep next to her, so she slipped out of bed quietly so as not to wake her, and went to her chambers. 

Evvie was just coming out of her rooms with a bucket in hand, preparing her bath. She saw Sansa and started. “Oh! My Lady! I thought you were still in bed. Was going to knock once I had your bath ready."

“Pardons, Evvie, I didn’t mean to startle you. I fell asleep in my sister’s chambers last night. We stayed up late talking, and I was so tired I dozed off.”

“No trouble m'Lady. I’ll have your bath filled in a moment.” She went on her way with the bucket. 

Sansa went to her bed chamber to chose a gown for the day. She didn’t see the packages on the bed until she turned to lay out the light green gown she had selected.

“Evvie,” she called out. “Did you leave something for me on the bed?” Receiving no reply, she went to see what it could be.

Seeing the note first, she slipped it from under the string and unfolded it. As she read it, a smile came to her face. The tears didn’t come until after she had opened the packages. 

She heard Evvie come back in, and rewrapped the packages, placing them in her armoire. She dried her tears on her sleeve, and returned to the solar for her bath.

“Is everything alright m'Lady?” Evvie asked, seeing her eyes red. 

She smiled. “Yes, everything is just fine. Let’s get this day started, shall we?”


	36. Life Was Strange

Chapter 36 – Life Was Strange 

*Sandor*

He woke in his own bed, which considering how thick his head felt, was a bit of luck. He wondered if Gendry had made it to his. 

Recalling all that went on last night was beyond him at the moment, so instead he lumbered from bed, to privy, to solar. Trey took one look at him, and picked up the plate of food he was about to set on the table, and turned to return it to the kitchens. He left the wine.

By the time he had downed a cup, and was pouring his second, the boy had returned with a drying cloth and some hot rolls wrapped in a towel. He recognized it as one of the towels the baker liked to swat at him with.

Good people, these Northerners. 

So with clean clothes, the wine, and his rolls in hand, he started for the Godswood and a much needed bath.

He passed Jaime Lannister on the way across the yard, but got no more than a raised brow and a smirk. 

“Be there in a bit, Lannister. Good job with the gate guards last night. Last two were shit.” He told the Ser.

“Thank you. Except they apparently let in two drunkards overnight.”

Sandor chuckled and kept on his way.

He greeted the staring tree and lowered himself into the pool, thoughts of his Little Bird immediately coming to mind as he sunk into the warm water. The packages. He wondered if she’d gone back to her rooms and found them yet.

He wished she were here right now. He wanted to hold her and kiss her, tell her he was sorry. Not for worrying. He wasn’t sorry for that, but for making the mistake of trying to forbid her from doing what she felt she had to do. 

When he heard the rustle and crunch of leaves behind him, he hoped somehow his thoughts had summoned her, but it was Tyrion Lannister that waddled out of the brush.

“Oh for fuck's sake. What the hells are you doing here? Come to pray your cock doesn’t turn black and fall off from wherever you’ve been sticking it?”

“And a good morning to you as well, my friend. No, my cock is just lovely. You can see for yourself in a moment. I heard a rumor that this pool was miraculous, and wanted to experience a miracle myself. And take a warm bath.”

The little man began to remove his little clothes. 

“Oh no, you’re not getting in here with me. I’m not about to sit and stew with your naked arse.”

“Relax Clegane, I don’t take up much room, and I wasn’t planning on making a pass at you. You’re not my type. Too hairy, and missing all of my favorite bits.”

As Tyrion lowered himself ungracefully into the pool, all Sandor could think of was how in the hells he had come to be naked in a pool, in the middle of the Winterfell Godswood, with Tyrion fucking Lannister. Life was strange. 

“So I hear our Lady Stark will be flying off on her very first dragon ride tomorrow morning to deal with some Northern invaders.”

Sandor didn’t know how much Tyrion knew, or who had told him, so he said nothing.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to see a dragon. Ride a dragon. And here they are, and here I am, the Hand of the dragon Queen herself, and I have yet to do so. I’m more than a little jealous.”

“You share that sentiment with Lady Arya.”

“Oh yes, that one I can see flying about on a dragon without a second thought. I’m just surprised you’re allowing Lady Sansa to take such a risk.”

“Allow. Turns out you don’t ‘allow' a Stark girl to do, or not do, whatever the hells they intend to do.” He grumbled. 

“You’re learning, Clegane.”

“I’m learning that I’m done sitting around naked, with a naked dwarf.” He said as he turned and pushed himself up on his arms and out of the pool.

“You called me a dwarf and not an Imp. Look how far our friendship has come!” Tyrion said as he watched Sandor heft himself up and out of the water. “Good Gods. You ARE built like an aurochs. All of you. It’s a wonder Lady Sansa can even walk. Well there go any fantasies of wooing my lovely ex-wife back.”

Sandor did his best to ignore the man, dried off, and got dressed. Tyrion was still talking. 

“I would have hoped it would be the sort of jape the Gods adored, give a giant man a tiny cock. A sort of balance to level the field, so to speak, but apparently…”

He unwrapped the baker's towel and stuffed one of the rolls into his mouth, then brought the remaining rolls and wine over to the bank, and left them within the little man’s reach.

“We’re done here.” He said, and left.

The fucker was still talking, his voice trailing Sandor out of the wood.

“Refreshments! I should have thought to bring some myself. Clever Clegane. Now I can see why you…”

*Sansa*

Lord Jonah had indeed escorted Arya to breakfast that morning, and she looked much happier for being out of bed and moving about. Happier as well to be under the boy’s attentions. She had never seen her sister smile and laugh so easily.

As much as she wanted to find Sandor after breakfast, Jon was going out beyond the walls to meet with the Queen’s Unsullied and Dothraki leaders to plan their mobilization, and wanted Sansa to come along and meet Rhaegal first. 

“Figured it would be wise to introduce you before you’re up on him tomorrow. He knows Tormund well enough already.”

“How does one greet a dragon?”

“Carefully.” He laughed. 

“That’s doesn’t inspire much confidence. Perhaps I should bring a live chicken or two? Offer a snack?”

“He'll be fine as long as I’m with you. Rhaegal is good-natured. An easy sort of dragon. Once he knows you, you’ll be the best of friends. If he can warm up to Tormund, he’ll love you.”

Arya overheard them. “I swear Jon, once I’m healed up, I better get to ride that bloody dragon.”

“You, he might just eat.” Jon teased.

So they bid everyone good morning, and took their leave for the West field. 

It was a long walk, but the day was turning into another mild one, and the sun and exercise felt good.

“Tomorrow, the most important thing to remember is to hold on. Tightly. You’ll be between Tormund and I, but still, hold on.”

She got a nervous flutter in her belly thinking that she was actually going to be in the sky tomorrow, as Wardeness of the North, flying off to treat with Free Folk, on a dragon. Life was strange.

The beast grew terrifyingly larger the closer they came, and she stopped once she got within a stone’s throw of him. Sansa felt her knees wobble a bit. 

“Jon. I really should have brought a chicken.”

He laughed, and Rhaegal lifted his massive head and nodded, as if in agreement. He then lowered it to the ground, and Jon motioned for her to come closer. He stood already at the beast's side.

“Hold out your hand. Let him have a sniff. If that goes well, you can give him a pat.”

“IF that goes well?” she exclaimed, but did as her brother advised, holding out her hand, and slowly approaching the dragon’s nose. 

She still had a hand once the dragon had taken his sniff, so she gently laid it behind his nose, and gave him a rub. His scales were warm, almost hot to the touch, and felt like leather covered plate. 

He blinked his enormous eye, it was almost as big as a wagon wheel, and seemed to not mind her touch. She grew bolder the longer she pat him, and walked around his head to stroke his cheek. He began making a low rumble in his throat, and she jumped back, fearing she had upset him.

“Don’t stop,” Jon said. “He likes it. That rumbling is like a cat’s purr. Just a lot louder.”

So she and Rhaegal spent the next quarter hour becoming friends. In just that span of time, he went from a terrifying beast to an oversized puppy under her attentions. She was absolutely enthralled with him. He seemed to like her just as well.

As she and Jon bid the dragon farewell until tomorrow, he even reached out to give her a surprisingly gentle nudge with his head.

“Well that’s done, you’ve stolen my dragon.” Jon teased.

“He’s magnificent. Thank you, I feel much easier about tomorrow now. I’m actually looking forward to spending more time with him.”

They turned back toward the castle. “I’ll escort you back to the gate, then I’m off to meet with Dany's captains.”

“No need, it seems we’ve come across an escort I can join.” She pointed towards Ser Brienne and Sandor walking toward them.  
Sandor was leading two very large horses by ropes, and Brienne was red faced, sweating, and beaming a smile their way.

“Well this should be an interesting story.” Jon said to her.

When the two parties met up, Brienne and Sandor nodded their greetings. She held his eye a moment, and gave him a smile that she hoped conveyed that she had received his gift, and all was well between them. 

The horses were both very fine coursers. One was a chestnut so deep he was almost black, with a black mane and tail. The other was a slightly smaller mare, snow white with a black mane, tail, lashes and muzzle. 

“Beautiful horses.” Jon said as he went to stroke the mare. “Dothraki? I can’t imagine what you had to trade for them.”

“I traded Ser Brienne.” Sandor barked a laugh.

“I fought for the horses, my Lord. Against any man they wanted to put up. Went through six of their best to get the pick of these two.” Brienne's smile growing even wider.

Jon laughed, and Sansa asked, “But why? You both already have fine horses?”

“They’re not for us. The stallion is for Lord Blacksmith. Boy needs a good horse. Luckily this one has a sweeter temper than Stranger. The mare is for Lady Arya. The little shit always wanted a big white horse. Now she’s got one.”

“Oh, Sandor, Arya’s going to just love her! I’m not sure how she’ll ever get herself up into the saddle, but she’ll find a way.” She exclaimed.

Jon looked at her funny for a moment, and she realized her slip. 

Luckily Brienne jumped in. “I would have tried for another, for Pod, but he can barely sit the one he’s got.”

“Well they’re very fine gifts, although you may not want to tell Arya for a few days, or she’s likely to want to ride her new horse now.”

“True enough. May be Lady Sansa can have her a saddle and bridle made. Girl should be healed up enough to ride by the time that’s done.” Said Sandor. 

“Good idea. Well, I’ll leave you three to it then. Sansa, I'll be back before dinner to meet.” Jon gave them a nod and took his leave for the army camp.

As they walked the horses to the gate, she had to fight the urge to take Sandor’s hand. Luckily there was a rope in each one.

Instead she focused on the mare, giving her a pat every now and then as they made their way to the gate. She was absolutely gorgeous. Arya was going to be beside herself. 

“This was so generous of you to do for Arya and Gendry, Ser Brienne.”

“I can’t take the credit my Lady, I just wanted a good fight. Sparring in the yard was getting dull. It was Clegane who thought of the Dothraki and the horses.”

Sandor gave her a look she couldn’t read. “Perhaps next time I’ll have to find a way for Ser Brienne to win you your own dragon.”


	37. Lady Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a cute little quickie chapter before the action ramps up again :)

Chapter 37 – Lady Wolf

*Sandor*

Once they reached the castle Ser Brienne bid them good day and took her leave to go clean up. Would probably go find Ser Jaime, throw him over her shoulder, and carry him off. The humor he found in that relationship knew no end.

Sansa followed him and the horses to the stables. Tom ran out to meet them and his eyes went wide at his newest charges.

“M’Lord! More coursers! Are they both yours?”

“No, the stallion will belong to Lord Gendry Baratheon, and the mare to the Lady Arya Stark. They’ll need no more than large stalls and feed for now. The Dothraki care for their horses well, so they’re already clean and brushed.”

“Yes M’Lord. Are they… like Stranger?”

He roared a laugh. “Rest easy boy, these two are sweet ponies compared to Stranger.”

The boy’s relief was evident. He started to lead the horses away.

“Wait boy. There something more. How old are you now Tom?”

“I was sixteen on my last nameday, m'Lord.”

“A man then. Tomorrow morning two boys will be here to start work as hands. Both are from town. Grandsons of the tanner and his wife. Don’t recall their names, but they’ll be asking for the Master of Horse. That’s you now. You can thank the Lady Stark for the promotion. Prepare two rooms in back for them, they’ll bunk here with you.”

The boy turned to Sansa with eyes as wide as they could get without falling from his head. “Thank you M’Lady, thank you. I’ll serve you and Winterfell well, I swear it.”

She smiled and met Sandor's eyes before turning and nodding to Tom. “You already are. House Stark is thankful for all your hard work. Lord Clegane has spoken highly of you, and that’s no small thing.”

“Thank you, m’Lord, and again m'Lady"

Tom bobbed her a bow, and led off the new horses, walking just a bit taller. 

“Seems I’m a very efficient Lady. I managed to staff my stables without even knowing it.” She said.

“Aye, you did.” 

“Is that what you were out doing early this morning before turning Brienne loose to fight Dothraki for horses?”

“No, I was bathing in the Godswood with your former husband.”

“What? Why?” she sputtered a laugh. 

“Don’t ask. I’m trying to forget it.”

“That’s almost more remarkable than me petting a dragon.”

“Aye, I saw that. It was less frightening than my morning, I promise you.”

She laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. He supposed the ridiculous incident with Tyrion Lannister was worth it if it could make his Little Bird laugh like that.

Once she composed herself, she took his arm, and led him towards the Eastern end of the castle. “Where are you taking me Lady Stark?”

“Since you’re getting so good at seeing to things about the castle, I thought you could help me see to the damaged Guest Wing, it may help you forget your frightening morning, Lord Clegane.”

They entered the still-standing portion of the large wing of guest quarters, the other half collapsed and burnt out from the Long Night. 

They were standing in a cool dark corridor, and he was looking around at the damage, when she suddenly pushed him up against the wall, seized his neck, and brought his lips to hers. The ferocity of her attack and the intensity of her kiss almost caught him off guard. It was good he was against a wall, as most of the blood in his head left to seek out his cock.

He had her up in his arms a second later, and pulled her hips into his. When she unclasped the top of his jerkin to kiss and bite at his neck, he could have spent himself right there. He had no idea how she could turn him into a boy again in seconds. She clutched at his hair and he felt her nails dig into the leather of his jerkin as she moved her mouth from his neck to his lips. She was almost violent in her need, and he met it with his own.

Still holding his vicious Lady Wolf, he turned and kicked open the closest guest chamber door, praying to all the Gods there was a bed left in it.

The Gods were in a good mood, because there was. 

Not even bothering to close the door, he tossed her on the bed, and crawled over her, pushing up her skirts and pulling at her small clothes. They tore in his hands, but neither of them cared, and they were a memory the moment they no longer stood between them.

She sat up and took his mouth again so hard he tasted blood, and her hands worked at his laces until they came free. She shoved down his breeches and grabbed his arse, pulling him down to her.

She only broke their kiss to throw her head back as he pushed himself into her, her moan more unrestrained than he had heard from her before. Any remaining blood left his brains at the sound of it.

He took her again and again, his control wavering with every one of her cries. By the time they were both gasping their pleasure he had driven them clear across the bed, and her head was hanging backwards over the other side, his own hanging over it. 

His heart was hammering in his chest and he was breathing in ragged gasps. It took him a few seconds to realize she was trying to catch her breath too, but had the bulk of him almost collapsed on top of her. He lifted his chest up off of hers and she took a deep breath.

“Sorry Little Bird, didn’t mean to flatten you like a bug.”

Lifting her hanging head, she laughed breathlessly. “I knew you’d remember me under here eventually.”

He lifted her head and slid them both back onto the bed, but didn’t slip himself from her yet. Each time they had joined he was loathe to leave her warmth, become disconnected from her again. When they were one, everything was right.

Sansa was still feeling a bit wolfish though, and kissed at his throat again, grazed her teeth along his skin.

“The Little Bird’s been a bit rough with me today. Can’t say that I mind though.”

“Let’s not fight again Sandor. I missed you.”

He laughed. “Oh we’ll fight again girl, because you’re you, and I’m me, and we’re both bloody stubborn. If I recall correctly, our courtship was you chirping and pecking at me as I barked and growled back. Pretty sure that’s how we fell in love. Though we seem to be getting better at the making up.”

“The making up HAS been wonderful. And now it comes with gifts. For everyone apparently.” She laughed. “I love it, by the way. I don’t know what pretty words YOU needed to chirp into Milly’s ear to get her to work so quickly. I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Not a one. I asked her to put that together for you the day we went into town. Tanner too. Just glad it was done and ready by the time I fucked up again.” 

“I love you, Sandor.”

“And I love you, Little Bird.” He lay his head on his arm and closed his eyes, enjoying this moment with her.

“Sandor?”

“Hmmm?”

“The door is open!”

“Just be glad we’re out here then, and not in the Keep. Although I don’t think I’d have even cared there.”

“We had better go.”

“Aye, I’ve left Ser Jaime on his own with the guard long enough. He likes it though. Never thought I’d see the day I was giving a Lannister orders. I’m more used to taking them.”

“You’re going to be a wonderful Lord of Winterfell. I can already see it.”

“I’ll do my best, Little Bird.” He kissed her softly. 

He rose finally, laced himself back into his breeches, and helped her to her feet. 

She swayed a moment, and giggled. “My legs are all wobbly after that.”

“Bloody hells girl, just don’t tell that to Lord Tyrion.”


	38. Forgiveness and Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of pushing the plot forward, but a rolling stone gathers no moss... LOL. 
> 
> And apologies for the delay, but the Witcher came out on Netflix last night, and binge-watching was unavoidable 😁

Chapter 38 – Forgiveness and Destiny

*Sansa*

“Sandor, you’re coming to the Hall tonight for dinner?”

“I’ll be there.”

She walked with him as far as the Guard barracks, gave his hand a squeeze, and set him loose on her unsuspecting guard. She could already hear him yelling as she walked away.

After freshening up back in her chambers, she chose a grey brocade gown for the evening and replaced her small clothes. At this rate, she'd have to set Milly to making a dozen new pair. She had Evvie restyle her single braid into soft loose waves, held back with jeweled combs. 

She was due to meet with Tormund, Sigorn, and Alys in the family solar. It was one of two last meetings necessary before she left tomorrow morning.

Her Lords had already given their support to her plans for the Northern houses, and agreed to the terms of the Alliance with the Free Folk. She had Tyrion in place to provide for the Northern Guard, and secure the support of the Queen. Now it was up to Tormund, Sigorn, and Alys to help her put a few more pieces in place before they treated with the Thenns.

Bran was already in the solar, but without the ever-present Samwell Tarly. 

When she inquired about him, Bran said he was preparing to leave for House Tarly in the South tomorrow. It was almost time for his baby to be born, and he wanted to get Gilly home and settled.

She would miss Samwell, he seemed so good for Bran, her brother needed a friend he could relate to. 

“The raven, have you seen it?” she asked her brother. 

“Yes, they know.”

Tormund, Sigorn, and Alys arrived together, and once they were all seated, Sansa told them of Bran’s news.

“The Thenns holding Deepwood Motte received our raven. They know Orval is dead, we hold their hostages, and that we’re coming to treat with them. Who will be in command there Sigorn?”

“Orval will have left his second behind to hold the castle. There cannot be another Magnar chosen yet, not without all the others.”

“Then Sigorn, if you wish to reclaim your position as Magnar, the North will support it as a condition of the negotiation. If not, with the approval of the my Northern Lords, I’d like to offer you the title of Lord Sigorn Thenn-Karstark of House Thenn-Karstark. I will grant Alys the Karstark seat and lands, in their entirety, to form a new house from the old. Any children you have will be named Thenn-Karstark, and be your rightful heirs. Your house will retain its previous status and protections, under its continued loyalty to House Stark, and the Queen Daenerys Targaryen. It is for you to choose."

She had already spoken to Alys of her intentions, and bid her discuss it with her husband, but now needed to know his choice.

Sigorn took his wife’s hand. “With every new way there must be a first step. I choose to be the first Thenn to join with my wife’s Westerosi house, and we shall form House Thenn-Karstark. 

Sansa smiled at him, and Alys beamed.

“Very well. It shall be done. Tormund, have you presented the terms of the Alliance to all the Free Folk leaders?”

“I have. Was easy enough, what’s left of them are all here still. There were a few grumblers, but I sorted them out. All are agreed. They know they owe Jon Snow and House Stark their lives.”

“Good. Then we treat tomorrow with the full support of the North, the Free Folk, and the Crown.”

“And you’re sure we’ll have the dragon Queen’s support? What when she hears of Jon taking us to treat with Northern invaders tomorrow?” Tormund asked.

“Then she will hear that Jon and the Wardeness of the North went to treat with Northern invaders. Nothing more. With Val and Mason here and safe, there will be no more to tell. We’ll simply be keeping her peace in the North, as is my duty. And once she sits the throne, we will hand her the largest region of her kingdom, united, and rebuilding peacefully. I assure you and the Free Folk we will have her full support when we make the formal announcements.”

“And we have the Lord of Tits and Wine.” Bran added. 

Sansa laughed. For once he had said something she understood.

*Sansa*

After the others had left her and Bran in the solar, she sent a page for Ser Brienne and Ser Jaime. 

While they waited, she poured wine for them. Bran waved it off. She wished he had more of an appetite for food and drink. It's almost as if he forgot about human needs sometimes. 

"You will tell them tonight. Tell Jon." Her brother stated, more than asked.

"Yes."

Ser Jaime and Brienne arrived, and after a painfully awkward start, their discussion went well. It was the right decision. She had to allow trust to be part of her rule. She may have learned many things from Littlefinger, but she would never become like him. 

Arya entered just as the golden pair of Sers was leaving. Her sister eyed Ser Jaime warily, but remembered her courtesies enough to nod her greeting.

She closed the door behind them, and walked slowly to a chair. She was still hurting, but seemed to be healing quickly. After seeing her get about well this morning, Maester Paul said she could continue, as long as she was careful and took enough rest.

“So it's done then? They agreed? I still don’t like it, Sansa. He's a Lannister. That will never change.”

“Well I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to trust me, and we both have to trust Brienne. People can change. Bran has seen it as well. Go argue with the Raven.”

Bran gave them a rare smile. Gods, it was good to see he was still in there somewhere. 

Arya rolled her eyes. “I trust you both, and I love Brienne, but that doesn’t mean I have to be pleased with it.”

“Well I do have something that may please you. Sandor got you a gift. If you behave through dinner we’ll take you to see it.”

“I’m not six, Sansa. I don’t need gifts to behave at dinner.”

Sansa smiled wryly at her sister. "Tonight you may."

“So there will be entertainment? Well, at least I finally get to walk down to dinner. So what is it? Why did he get me a gift? Where is it?”

Jon came through the door as Arya was still asking questions.

“You had to tell her, didn’t you?” He said to Sansa. 

“How did it go with your army?” she asked her brother. 

“Well. They’re used to being on the move, so they’re about as ready to go as you are to have them gone.” 

“I’ve not complained. Just concerned about feeding them all. But as far as armies camped at my door are concerned, they’ve been easy enough guests, and we owe them for their service."

“When do you leave?” Arya asked. 

“Three days.”

“Three days! I thought it would be at least another seven! Why so soon?” Sansa asked. 

“It will take over a fortnight to get the army to Kings Landing, and Dany wants to move as quickly as possible now that the dragons are eating again and well."

Bran turned his head from the fire to speak to Jon. 

"Let the Queen’s army march in three days. Without you. In five days you’ll fly. With Arya. The throne will be taken with only only a few lives lost. Tell the Queen."

Jon looked at him in confusion. 

“Bran, what do mean, with Arya? Are you mad? She can’t even sit a horse, and she’s supposed to somehow take Kings Landing by herself? She may be able to handle herself with a blade and dagger, and the Night King was a bit of good luck, but you expect me to convince Dany my little sister is some Faceless assassin, and is able to take down Cersei?"

“But I am. Ask the Freys. If you can still find one alive.” Arya was smiling now. “And in five days I’ll be well enough to sit a dragon, and kill a Queen. Bran, you’re brilliant. Bloody odd, but brilliant. The last name on my list.”

Jon looked around at them. “Have you all gone mad?"

"You want this over and done, The Queen wants this over and done, and I can do it. Better and cleaner than swooping in on dragons spewing fire and scaring the piss out of the whole city. Do you want quick, or chaos?" 

"I don't know, Arya. I'll have to convince Dany. She'll think I'm the one who's gone mad then."

Jon stared at Arya hard for a few moments, she just looked back at him with her smile. He finally sighed deeply. 

"You say you can really do this?"

"I can do this."

"Alright. But first we have the Thenns to deal with tomorrow. One sister flying around on a dragon is enough for now. If all goes well, then I'll go talk to Dany afterwards. And if I don't come back you'll know she fed me to Drogon."

"The Queen will see. Women will be the future of her Seven Kingdoms. You and Arya will fly in five days. After the wedding." Bran said serenely. 

"Others take me, what wedding?" Jon asked. 

Bran smiled again, "Sansa's" 

*Sandor*

Lannister had cut nine guards, but added a dozen new, all in the course of two days. They had forty three in the ranks all together, but that was nowhere near enough. Sandor wanted at least a hundred good men. 

By the time he left the barracks, the new men and boys had been assessed, and a training schedule put in place for all of them. 

He thought to ask Brienne, and both older Umber lads, if they would assist in the training yard daily. Once the Little Wolf was better she could train them with spears, and he’d ask Tormund to work with them with axes. He figured he may as well use them all while they were still here.

He walked back to the Keep with Ser Jaime. 

“Have you noticed that these Northerners are quite different from the men we used to command in the Capitol? This lot really believes in all the duty and honor business. It’s quite refreshing. Yet I don’t know if I can work without the feeling that someone may stab me in the back at any moment.” Lannister said.

“You can thank our shit lot of white brothers for that. After Joffrey booted Selmy, not a one left was even worth their boot leather. And if I recall correctly, you did a bit of stabbing as well. No hands were clean when it came to Kings Landing or serving your family.”

“No. They weren’t. But you never questioned the orders, did you?"

“Until I walked away.”

“That you did. Most say you broke at the Blackwater. But it wasn’t that, was it? So why did you walk away?”

“Why did YOU walk away? You had more to lose than I ever did.”

Lannister looked down. Said nothing. 

“That’s what I thought. A better man than you or I once said ‘It’s never too late to do the right thing’. I thought he was full of shit.”

“And was he?”

“No.”

“Funny that everything started here. At Winterfell. Didn’t it? And now here we are again, and the boy who became a Raven because he couldn’t fly tells us the North is our destiny. Do you believe him Clegane?”

“I believe it. But not because of him.”

“Then because of her?”

It was Sandor’s turn to say nothing. 

“Yes, well. It’s a better reason, isn’t it? Best neither one of us fuck it up, as we're like to do. I don’t think we’ll be handed forgiveness and destiny a second time. Ah, well, anyway, let’s go dress for dinner, shall we? I’m famished!”

He thought about Lannister’s words as he washed up and changed into clean clothes.

When he got to the Hall a page intercepted him before he entered. 

“Lord Clegane, the Lady Stark has requested you join her at the High Table tonight, this way, if you please.”

Shit. He should have worn his sword.


	39. And Me

Chapter 39 – And Me

*Sandor*

As the little page led him through the Hall towards the High Table, he saw the only people seated there so far were the Thenn and his plain wife, the Wildling girl who looked at first glance to be the dragon Queen but wasn’t, and Tormund of all people. 

What the hells is going on tonight?

The lad ushered him into a chair between two empty seats, with Tormund the next person over.

“Clegane! Look, I’m a fancy fucker now too! Might be I could get used to being one of you kneelers. Ha!!”

“What in the Seven Hells are we doing up here?”

“I don’t know about you, but tomorrow I get to fly away on a dragon to save the North with my legs wrapped around your pretty ginger Lady. Might be she wants to show me off. Eh?"

“Shut the fuck up before I toss you head first back down to the benches.”

Just then the Starks entered the Hall. Jon Snow was pushing the Raven boy, and had a look on his face that gave Sandor the urge to get the lad drunk and introduce him to long talks with Stranger. 

The Little Wolf walked behind them, already looking his way with a smirk on her face. That didn’t bode well. But he was glad to see her up and about anyway. 

Sansa looked beautiful as usual, her dress grey and a bit formal, her hair loose and a bit not. He’d have to resist putting a hand into it at dinner. Wrapping it around his fist…

She took the empty seat next to him and the Little Wolf the other. Before he could quietly ask Sansa why he was sitting up here, the other one started yapping. 

“Sansa says you got me a gift. You better give it to me after dinner, I’m not the most patient person you know.”

“Aye, no one knows that better than me. You’ll get your gift girl, now don’t make me regret it. Tell me why the fuck I'm sitting up here."

"Why, don't like the attention? You'd best get used to it if you're going to marry my sister. Just don't expect me to start calling you 'good brother' and letting you order me about."

"Fucking Hells."

"What, you knew she'd have to tell them all eventually. And what with the wedding in just four days, may as well be now."

"Four days? Is there anything else I don't know?"

"What you don't know could fill the Citadel library, you bloody aurochs."

"You're funny without an arrow sticking out of your neck, aren't you girl?"

The wine had just been set on the table and he reached for the flagon and poured a cup for himself. Whatever was happening during dinner tonight it would go down better after some wine.

He set his empty cup down and was about to lean over to speak to the Little Bird when she reached down, gave his thigh a squeeze, and then stood to address the Hall.

“My Lords and Ladies, if you’ll pardon me for delaying dinner a moment. There are no secrets in a castle, as they say, so I’m sure you’re all aware by now that we’re dealing with a faction of Thenns invading our empty castles to the North. Most of you also know that we have drawn up an Alliance between our Northern houses and the Free Folk, the terms of which cover both those who choose to settle here South of the Wall, and those who choose to remain North of it. Tomorrow Lord Jon Snow, Tormund Giantsbane, and I will be taking a little dragon ride to treat with this faction of invaders, and take back our castles.”

A cheer went up from the Northmen, accompanied by the banging of cups and shouted suggestions of just what they should do to the invaders with the dragon. After a moment she held up her hands to quiet them.

“My hope is to reach a peaceful agreement with these men, with no more lives lost, and soon be able to see you all home. For some that will be to your ancestral seats, for others it will be to new places to call home. We will all face many changes going forward in a new North, but we will work together and be stronger for it.”

More cheers and banging from the Hall, and again she quieted them. 

“Winterfell will see it’s own changes as well. As your Wardeness, I want to share the news of my betrothal with you, my loyal Lords and Ladies, first.”

A murmur swept through the hall, as Lords leaned to other Lords to inquire as to whose lucky son was chosen.

The Little Bird turned and smiled down at him, and bid him to rise.

Shit. Here we go.

She took his hand. 

“By now all of you have come to know Lord Sandor Clegane, and all he has done for House Stark. The Queen saw fit to honor him for his deeds, and I see fit to accept his proposal of marriage. He has already pledged his service to House Stark, and now pledges his life.”

The murmuring turned to grumbling, as the Lords and Ladies realized none would be joined to House Stark by way of the marriage they all sought for their sons. It was well enough when he was fighting for them, but bugger him for daring to take their Northern prize. 

The hand the Little Bird wasn’t holding felt for the hilt of the sword he wasn’t wearing by reflex.

It was a fat Manderley Lord who was the first to voice his displeasure. “You choose a middling Western Lord, instead of a son of the North?”

The Cerwyn was next. “The Warden of the North should be from the North!”

The rumble of agreement grew louder. He could feel Sansa tense, and knew she was about to unleash her retort, when a trencher was slammed down on the table next to him with a crash, and the Little Wolf rose to her feet.

“A Queen will sit the Iron Throne, Asha Greyjoy rules the Iron Islands, a Princess governs in Dorne, and a little girl killed the Night King to save all of your miserable arses. None of you will be Warden of the North, because the WARDENESS of the North will remain the Wardeness. Clegane isn’t after the title so many of you apparently want for your own. He has no intention of ruling in my sister’s stead. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and now there always will be. Their children will be Starks, their grandchildren will be Starks. And any man who wants to oppose them will do so through me.”

With that she drew her dagger and plunged it into the table before her.

“And me.” Jon Snow rose.

“And me.” Tormund rose.

“And me.” Gendry rose.

“And me.” Sigorn rose.

“And me.” Ser Brienne rose.

“And me.” Ser Jaime rose.

“And don’t forget me, although I have no dagger to wave about, it’s said I have a magic cock, I can wave that about if anybody would like?” Lord Tyrion said as he entered the Hall, late for dinner, but with a flagon of wine already in hand.

Sansa looked around at her supporters with tears in her eyes, then up to him with a smile.

A booming laugh came from a table below as the GreatJon plunged his dagger into his table and rose with cup in hand.

"And me. I'd deal with that dragon outside before I’d piss off the little Stark wolf! Ha! Well said girl! If my Lady has chosen Lord Clegane, then I support my Lady. Best you other fuckers get in line.” 

His sons rose as well.

The GreatJon raised his cup and looked around until one by one other cups joined his.

“To the Lady Sansa Stark, Wardeness of the North, and Lord Sandor Clegane of House Stark. Welcome to the North!” 

He drank and the others did as well, and when he began banging his empty cup on the table it wasn’t long before the others took it up. 

“To the North! To the North!” were the cries.

Apparently these Northerners were smart enough to forgive and forget quick, or knew enough of what the Little Wolf would do to them otherwise. 

Arya sat and turned to smirk up at him and her sister, and he had to laugh. 

“Don’t know if that was exactly behaving at dinner, but I still better get my gift later.”

*Sansa*

There were no more incidents at dinner. Sandor relaxed once the food was served, and everyone turned their focus to eating and drinking. 

As the sweets were brought out she invited up the fiddler to play, and afterwards had the tables cleared for dancing. 

Sigorn and Alys were the first to get up to dance, and then Jon and Val. When Lord Jonah approached Arya, she saw Maester Paul about to throw himself between the two to prevent her sister from doing anything taxing, but Jonah just asked her for a walk.

Sansa noticed Gendry observe the scene, but without any distress or jealousy. Interesting. 

When Sandor rose and extended his hand to her, all the tension of the evening left her, and she could have cried from joy. Finally, to dance with the man she loved, the man she would marry, without having to keep anything secret any longer, was wonderful. 

She felt the eyes watching them, but she didn't care. They would all grow used to it soon enough, and she simply wanted to enjoy this moment. He was enjoying it as well, and seemed to shed a bit of the usual discomfort he felt in a crowd. 

When Arya appeared next to them a bit later, he laughed and asked if she ment to cut in. 

"You can stand on my feet to dance like the little maids do."

"Shut up. I want my gift now, and my sister needs to get some sleep if she's supposed to hang on to a dragon tomorrow and not fall off." 

"Thank you Arya. I wasn't nervous about that until just now." 

Arya shrugged. 

"Go fetch Lord Blacksmith then, and meet me at the Hall door. I have something for him as well." He told her sister. 

Sandor turned to her. "She's right Little Bird. Best get some rest. I don't like anything about what you're doing tomorrow, but better you do it wide awake."

"Alright." She rose onto her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, but whispered in his ear, "come to my chambers later. I'll sleep, but I want you beside me." 

He nodded, but his look told her he was no longer thinking of sleep.


	40. Get Back To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! Now that things have quieted back down for a bit... on with the story :)

Chapter 40 – Get Back To Me

*Sansa*

She had dismissed Evvie for the night, telling the girl she would see to herself in the morning, and not knowing for sure when she would return, gave her the next day off to do with as she liked.

She crawled beneath her cover, and was asleep quickly. Knowing that Sandor would come later was her last thought as she drifted off.

It was late when his bulk and warmth slipped under the cover and wrapped around her, brushing her hair to the side and burying kisses in her neck.

She stretched out against him and felt his muscled chest against her back, and his hardness on her bottom, through her shift. Pressing herself back further she moved to feel him.

“Mmmmm…”

“Shhhh, Little Bird, you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

She WAS still half asleep, tired from the events of the day, the wine with dinner, and the dancing. But her body wanted him just the same, as the now familiar need for him blossomed, and she moved her bottom against him again. 

“I’ll keep my eyes closed. I promise. As good as sleeping." 

He chuckled softly, pulling up her shift and moving his kisses to her shoulder. His hand caressed her breasts as his mouth moved to her neck. He moved to brush his fingers over her stomach, then lower still, sinking them into the curls between her legs.

She gasped at his touch there, but kept her promise and her eyes closed, even as he lifted her leg back over him. She did her best to only let out a soft moan of satisfaction when he finally slid himself up into her wetness.

He moved so slowly and tenderly. Reaching behind her she held the back of his head to keep his lips on her neck, even as the kisses turned to just his heated, ragged breaths against her skin. 

His fingers still in her damp curls and the feeling of him inside her in this position made her gasps sound like anything but sleeping, and she arched her bottom back into his hips and invited him deeper, again and again.

It wasn't long before her pleasure coursed around him and brought his with it.

She loved that he remained inside her as they quieted and calmed, delaying the moment they’d no longer be one.

They didn’t speak, didn’t need to, and afterwards remained curled together, tired and warm. As she heard his breathing become steady in sleep, she was so thankful to have another night with him next to her. 

Soon it would be every night, and she fell back to sleep herself, happy with that thought, and the sweet ache between her legs.

*Sandor*

In the morning he woke before her, and lie watching the sun come up, feeling the warmth of her next to him. She had, like last time, curled up in her sleep to face him, with her head and knees resting against his side and an arm thrown over his chest. 

He loved how her bed smelled. Her pillows. Her. It all smelled of her. Soft and floral and fresh. He almost felt like the big hairy aurochs the Little Wolf liked to call him, laying here in her pretty soft sheets. 

They’ll be our pretty soft sheets soon. 

He savored these pleasant thoughts, until the unpleasant thoughts of what his Little Bird was going to be doing today crept into his mind. The worry tightened his chest and churned his stomach. 

He slipped out of bed trying not to wake her, and dressed. He knew she had dismissed her chambermaid, so he figured he’d go down to the kitchens and find them some breakfast. 

When he returned, after being swatted by Mathilde the baker and then given an unexpected pat and smile, along with extra butter and honey for their rolls, Sansa was just waking.

“Gods girl, you scared me, thought there was a she-devil in the bed with that wild hair.”

She laughed and tried to smooth the sleep-tousled locks with her hands.

“Come eat, rolls are still hot. I about ran all the way back to keep them warm.”

She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, sliding her hands down his chest.

“Since you can braid my hair and fetch breakfast, all I need to do is teach you how to lace a gown and I’ll have no more need of Evvie.”

“I rather learn how to unlace your gowns.” He smiled, stuffing a buttered roll in his mouth. “Sit. Eat.”

Once they finished their breakfast he rose and kissed the top of her head. “I have to go see to the Guard. When do you leave?”

“A bit later. Will you come out to see me off? I can send Arya for you. She wants to be there, probably to find some new way to make me nervous.”

“Fucking dragon. Aye, I’ll be there. Send the Little Wolf to the training yard to get me.” 

He left her before she could see the worry on his face.

*Sandor*

The men were just starting to make their way into the yard when he arrived. He saw to handing out the practice swords and shields. Jaime arrived with the two eldest Umber boys, and they began to put the men and new boys through their paces. 

He couldn’t concentrate. The building worry in his gut distracting him. He kept telling himself that he trusted her brother, he even trusted the mad ginger, but still. Still.

The Little Wolf finally appeared at the fence to tell him it was time. Brienne and Gendry with her. 

Jaime called an end to the training and dismissed the men to their duties. Seemed he and the Umbers were coming along as well. 

It was a whole fucking procession now as they made the long walk to the West field where the dragon made itself at home. 

With each step his tension grew. The casual yammering of the others grated on his nerves. 

The Little Wolf alternated between making eyes at the Umber Lordling and glancing at Sandor. She came to walk beside him at one point. He noted she wasn’t taking it quite as easy as she was the day before. She was healing up quickly. 

“Gods, will you get a grip? She’s going to be fine. You know Jon would never let anything happen to her. You look white as death, Clegane. Is it just the dragon? Jon says he’s a sweet one.”

“Aye, a sweet fucker I’m sure. It’s not the dragon, girl. I’m fine. Leave it be.”

She just stared up at him.

As they approached the dragon's field, he saw another crowd already gathered at the edge of the wide circle of flattened grasses, standing amongst charred and broken bones, like it was some bloody ball. The silver Wildling girl was with Snow at the beast's head, patting and stroking it like some damned overgrown pup.

He was concentrating so intently on steadying the tremble he felt come to his hands as the dragon stood and raised its head to let out an ear-splitting cry, that he didn’t even see Sansa at first.

She spotted him, and broke from the group of men up ahead. When he finally saw her walking towards their little party, his breath caught. At about the same moment, Arya let out a low whistle, and Arron Umber's eyes went wide.

His gift fit her so well he immediately regretted it. No wonder half the castle had followed her out.

To see her endlessly long legs on display in the snug, soft black leather, the trim black boots with silver studding to her calves, and the dove grey fitted jerkin leaving none of her curves to the imagination, he knew he wasn’t the only one who had completely forgotten the immense green dragon. 

He had the riding outfit made for her after their horse race. All her skirts flapping about that day as she ran Mercy seemed cumbersome, and gave him the thought. A few words with Milly the seamstress, and here it was now, looking better on her than he could have imagined. Milly had adorned the jerkin with the same delicate silver studs as the boots, and embroidered two Direwolves facing one another at the collar in silver thread. 

“Whoa, Sansa, I like it. You look as fierce as the Wardeness of the North should look flying off on a dragon. Watch out though sister, you may never want to go back to skirts now.” The Little Wolf said.

He had to agree, but couldn’t put words together at the moment.p 

Sansa came to stand before him, her cheeks colored from the compliment and all the eyes on her.

“Thank you. Sandor had it made for me, although he thought I’d be riding nothing more fearful than my mare in it. Turns out it’s perfect for this particular ride as well.” Meeting his eyes she smiled and added, “I love it, Sandor.”

There were still too many emotions fighting within him to speak, but he nodded, and instinctively reached behind her to pull her braid over her shoulder, and run his fingers down its length. She knew him well enough that she didn't need words. When he took the grey ribbon from his pocket and tied it tightly to the end of her braid, above the black one she already wore, he didn't care that the others were watching. She understood, and laughed through the tears that had come to her eyes. "Keep it safe, girl. I'll be expecting it back." 

She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, and smiled up at him as she took his arm and they went to join the others. After nods and greetings, it was time for her to depart. 

Jon Snow said a few words to the dragon, and the beast lowered himself, dropping a shimmering green wing to the ground so he could be climbed and mounted. 

"Do you want to touch him?" Sansa asked 

"Bugger that, as long as he likes you that's all that matters."

Tormund came up to them. “Alright Clegane, time to give her here, I’ll see that she's returned to you in one pretty piece.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the man. “You bloody well better.” 

Sansa raised a hand to his cheek, and he resisted the urge to crush her to him and not let her go, instead leaning down to give her a kiss. The kind of kiss he couldn’t have given her before their betrothal was announced, but not the kind he wanted to give her, especially with every eye in this buggering crowd on them.

The tightness in his chest was back, and his voice choked. “Get this done and get back to me Little Bird.”

“I will. Please don't worry Sandor."

Arya appeared silently at his side, and they both watched the Lady Stark walk off and mount the dragon, with Tormund helping to steady her and see her seated. 

Once all three riders were ready, the enormous green beast took two bounding steps that made the ground beneath their feet shudder, and extending its wings up into the air, taking flight with a single leap. They could feel the rush of air its wings threw down upon them, and in a moment the dragon was up and away. 

As he watched with the others gathered, the dragon grew smaller and further away with every beat of its wings.

When they could no longer be seen, the Little Wolf turned to him. “Clegane, how about you come to town with Gendry, Jonah, and I? We all have a bit of business, but afterwards I’ll buy you fellows a few chickens and a few drinks at the Inn?”

“Does the Maester know of your plan to go riding off?”

“No, and I don’t plan to tell him. I’m fine. And I won't be riding really, I’ll double with Jonah.”

“Ah, I see. And you're taking Lord Blacksmith along to see how long his face can grow? I didn't take you for a coquette, girl. Or have you already found the lad his new Lady wife?”

“He’s taken care of that himself it seems.”

“How? Who? I thought you told him he didn’t know his arse from his elbow when it came to choosing a wife?”

“The idiot doesn’t, but love doesn’t always make sense, does it? My sister loves you, for one. Where's the sense in that?"

He shook his head. “Fine. let’s go to town. I’d be crawling the walls waiting around here anyway.”

“Good. Then meet me at the forge after the midday meal.”

“My horse going to be waiting at the forge?”

“No, but your new sword will be, Gendry’s finished it. Mine too. Wait till you see it!”

As she yammered on he was suddenly grateful for her presence. This one knew him well enough too. Knew he’d need her to annoy him the rest of the day and keep his mind from the fact that his whole world just flew away on a fucking dragon.


	41. No Mare Today

Chapter 41 – No Mare Today

*Sandor*

Four of them rode into Winter Town, five of them went drinking at the Inn, but only three rode back to Winterfell. 

Before they left Sandor stopped at the forge, as the Little Wolf bid him. The others were already there, and they were passing around the girl’s new sword. 

The Lady Arya Stark still wore her Needle and dagger daily, but wanted to add something with a bit more heft and cut. 

With Lord Blacksmith able to make his steel lighter and sharper than any but the long dead Valaryans to hear him tell it, she was able to add a scaled down version of her brother Jon Snow's centuries-old Longclaw. 

Gendry made it to a size she could weild easily, with a double edge, and the pommel carved into the likeness of her Direwolf Nymeria, right down to the glowing citrine’s for the eyes. 

She planned to scabbard it across her back when she wore it, as it was too long for her hip, but both Gendry and Jonah told her she’d never be able to draw it quick enough that way. 

It made him chuckle when she put both in their place.

“It’s all in the angle, you idiots. Clegane used to wear his sword that way, and I’ve seen him draw it and cut down two men before they could even pull the swords at their waists. Give me a day at it, and may be I’ll try it with the two of you.”

He took the nod, as he was sure her brother would take the nod to his sword as well. Little shit.

When Gendry brought out Sandor’s new sword, he saw it was scabbarded in the thick black leather he requested, but he didn’t recognize the pommel as anything resembling what he told the boy to fashion. 

Before the blacksmith could hand it to him, the Little Wolf stepped between them, and stayed Gendry’s hand. 

“Before you go barking and cursing at Gendry, I was the one who designed the pommel. Had it done when I chose my own. So if you don’t like it you can fight me on it. But I think you will.”

“Bloody hells, give it here already and let me have a look.”

She stepped aside and watched his face as he was handed the sword and pulled it free of the scabbard, studying the pommel.

It was all of steel, with neither polish nor stones. The guards were a simple rendering of two leaping dogs from House Clegane's sigil, with the third as the pommel. This dog however, was wrought around and with his head over a direwolf of House Stark. Behind the dog and the wolf, in relief, was a second wolf, in profile, smaller, and with its teeth set in warning. 

“Turns out it’s even more appropriate now that you’ll be joining House Stark for true. House Clegane and the two wolves of House Stark you protected. When you pass it down to your sons with Sansa, it will tell the story of how your two houses became one.”

That tightness in his chest again. Others take her. He couldn’t meet her eye, but she knew enough from the nod of his head.

The sword's blade was remarkable. Gendry did have a rare talent. It wasn’t Valarayan steel, but it was the closest thing to it he had ever laid eyes on. The same length and width of his old, but gleaming, and half the weight. He glanced up at the boy and said simply, “Good work. Both of you.” 

He replace it in its scabbard, and secured it around his waist. He felt overwhelmed suddenly and needed to get out of here. “I need to see to Stranger. I’ll be in the stables when you’re ready.”

The Little Wolf's smiled, and he could feel her eyes on him as he left.

Tom greeted him first, and introduced his two new hands. The eldest of the tanner’s grandsons being Wexley, and the other a Tom as well. Thomas.

“This is Lord Clegane,” Tom told the other two. “He'll soon be your Lord of Winterfell. Stranger, the big black stallion, is his mount.” 

The boys looked between him and Tom, their heads bobbing, and their eyes wide to meet the giant Lord of surly stallions.

“Well met, lads. Now see to preparing Lord Jonah’s horse, and another for Lord Gendry. His courser is still in need of a saddle, so choose another for this afternoon. I’ll see to Stranger.”

“They’re good workers, I can already tell m’Lord. My thanks again for the help.” Tom said, as his charges ran off to see to their tasks.

“Good. From now on you come to me for your coin and whatever you and those two need, the Lady Stark has enough to do. I’ll see to the Stables.”

“Yes, m’Lord.”

In the Stables, he found Tom had placed Gendry's stallion in a stall far from Stranger, and the Little Wolf’s new mare further still. Smart lad. When he checked they all had clean straw, fresh water, and plenty of oats.

As he saddled Stranger, he spoke to the horse of his thoughts on expanding the stables. This would be his home now. Their home. So it would do them well to settle in and make some plans.

Stranger nudged his head into Sandor’s chest.

“Aye, you have the right of it, boy, we’re both lucky fucks.”

*Sandor*

The ride into town was uneventful.  
The Little Wolf rode with the Umber, and did her best to make it seem like she wasn’t enjoying it. Whether it was to keep him from commenting, or to spare Gendry, he wasn’t sure. Lord Blacksmith didn’t seem to mind though, and kept up a steady stream of yammering all the way in. 

Sandor drank from his wineskin, and did his best to ignore both the boy and the gnawing worry still in his gut.

In town they visited the tanner’s shop first, both Arya and Gendry putting in orders for their new saddles. 

Tessa, the tanner’s wife, asked after her grandsons, and was happy to hear he was pleased with their service. She patted and hugged him about the waist again. He was starting to find the old woman slightly endearing. 

“We heard in town of your betrothal to our Lady Stark. A good thing, I told any that asked. Told them I knew you, and you were a good sort. Vernon says so too. Tis' a good thing m'Lord.”

Afterwards the girl and the Umber wanted to walk the market, and Gendry made off for Milly's and his new clothes. 

Sandor made his own way to the Inn, and left Stranger with Everett, tossing the boy another coin to see to him well.

“No mare today, M’Lord?”

He sighed deeply. “No, no mare today. Toss him a few apples and he should mind you well enough.”

The dining room was almost full, but the table he preferred in the back was free. The serving wench remembered him, and came over with a smile and the good wine already in hand as he sat. “We’ll be four later, but for now just a chicken, and keep the wine coming.”

With a flagon before him, and one cup in his belly already, he watched as the sun outside the cloudy window set. 

He didn’t know how long it took a dragon to fly to Deepwood Motte and back. Probably should have found the Raven boy and asked. Might feel better to know.

When the Inn door opened, and a heavily cloaked and hooded Osmund Kettleblack walked in, his sword hand recognized the man before his mind did. 

Sandor sat back into the shadows, and just watched a moment. What the bloody fuck was this Lannister cunt doing this far North, and why?

He had heard Cersie's pet was made a Kings Guard along with his fool brother. Tonight he wasn’t in either whites or Lannister colors, but was wearing the look of Lannister gold all the same.

Kettleblack took a cursory look about the dining room, then spoke to the Innkeep for a bit in a low tone. Afterwards, he simply turned and left.

Sandor was on his feet the second the door closed and standing before the Innkeep.

“That man, what did he want?"

“He asked after Lord Petyr Baelish, our Lady Stark’s former adviser. I told him Lord Baelish was tried and executed by the Ladies Stark and the Lords of the Vale for murder and treason a few months past. He left right after, without a word.”

If Kettleblack’s horse was in the stables he may yet be able to intercept him. But as he entered the Inn yard he saw the man already galloping down the road, southbound. 

He stood in the yard and fought the urge to follow him. Kill him. Just on principle. But if the man was alone and sent looking for word of Littlefinger, he got it, and was now headed back to Cersei. By the time the news even reached her, she would have the Unsullied, the Dothraki, and two dragons up her arse.

Turning, he went back into the Inn. He would mention it to the Little Wolf when he could get her ear alone a moment. 

When the others arrived they had added one more. Milly the seamstress was attached to Lord Blacksmith’s arm, and looking up at him like the boy hung the moon. So that was what Arya spoke of earlier. 

The Little Wolf caught Sandor's eye with a smirk and rolled her eyes in the couple’s direction, confirming the obvious. If he wasn’t already on edge over Sansa and now Kettleblack, he would have enjoyed a good laugh. 

So much for finding the boy a proper Lady to run his castle. He could see the pair riding into Storms End as Lord Blacksmith and Lady Seamstress Baratheon. Hopefully the dragon Queen left him with enough coin for two Maesters and a few stewards. But the girl seemed sharp enough. May be they’d make a go of it.

He grabbed Arya’s arm when she came close, and whispered a few words to her about what had just occurred before their arrival. She nodded, poured herself a drink, and resumed talking with the others.

They ate and drank, and while it passed the time, the young couples mostly made him feel nursemaid to their lot, and he missed his Little Bird. 

He would have drank more, but a wariness after the Kettleblack appearance held him back. Arya seemed restrained as well. A familiar tension in her eyes. The Umber was keen enough to notice, and his eyes would occasionally glance between Sandor's face and hers in concern, but knew enough not to ask about it here.

The Lordling seemed a good lad. Not as loud and brash as his father, nor as soft spoken as his older brother. He had a good natured confidence, without being the type to blather and brag. If you added his skill with a sword and bow, he could see why the girl took to him.

As it grew late, Gendry decided to make a night of it with Milly, and when they all took their leave of the Inn it was in different directions. 

He was glad for the quiet from the Umber and the Little Wolf as they rode next to him and Stranger on the road back to the castle.

They were passing the stream where he and Sansa had stopped to water their horses, and he was still lost in his own thoughts.

That was until the Little Wolf tensed and sat bolt upright in front of Lord Jonah. 

“Nymeria.” Was all she said.

But it was enough.


	42. Mercy Please

Chapter 42 – Mercy Please

*Sansa*

The initial rush of terror that ran through her when Rhaegal took off and her stomach dropped, soon gave way to exhilaration. She opened her eyes once the dragon leveled off, and relaxed her grip on the spikes in her hand just a bit.

Jon spoke over his shoulder. “That was the hardest part. Taking off the first time. The rest is easy.”

She turned to look behind her. The people on the ground that came to see them off were growing smaller. She could still make out Sandor’s large shape, and Arya standing next to him, but with a few more beats of Rhaegal’s wings, they were reduced to specks.

“What do you think, girl?” Tormund asked.

“It’s incredible!”

“Snow! You think you can get that dragon Queen of yours to sit on another egg, and hatch me one of these? Ha!” he yelled past her to Jon.

"I wouldn't dare ask her, but you go right ahead." He replied. 

It was fascinating to see the lands of the North this way, from the sky, stretched out to all sides. She knew it was vast, but this showed just how vast.

Despite the distance, it felt like no time at all had passed before the sea and Western coast came into view. Soon she could make out Deepwood Motte up ahead, past the forest. It was a large timber castle, set on stone foundations and surrounded by timber walls.

Jon spoke over his shoulder again. “We'll land on the road well before the Motte. You and Tormund will wait on the ground, I’ll remain on Rhaegal. Let’s see who they send out.”

“How will they know we’re here?”

“Like this. Hold on.”

He shifted slightly and Rhaegal turned and flew lower, right toward the four wooden towers that connected the outer walls of the Motte.

As they swooped over the castle, Rhaegal let out a cry so loud she startled, and almost let go of the spikes she held to cover her ears. Tormund threw an arm around her waist until she steadied. She could feel the vibration of the dragon’s cry run right through her.

“Ha! That was sure to wet their breeches!”

“Almost wet mine as well.” She laughed.

Circling the castle, Rhaegal let loose another cry, but this time she was ready for it.

They landed in the road about a mile from the castle gate, and she and Tormund climbed down. There was nothing but grass and scrub in the field around them, so they could see an approach in any direction. 

She walked around to Rhaegal’s lowered head, and placed a hand on his massive cheek. “Thank you for seeing us here safely.”

Not unlike a horse, he blinked and let out a soft puff of air from his nostrils in response. She stayed at his side until they saw about twenty riders kicking up a cloud of dust as they came up the road.

She and Tormund took a position a few paces before the dragon, and he took his beloved new battle axe in hand.

“Remember, if anything goes wrong stay by Tormund, if I have to attack, it’s safer I ride alone.”

She nodded, and fought down her nerves as the group of Thenns came upon them, stopping well away from where they stood with Rhaegal. 

They were twenty two at quick count, armed with swords, spears, and crossbows. She knew none would be effective against a dragon.

Even knowing from Sigorn that the Thenns were a well spoken, educated, and usually peaceful people, the group before her was still a fearful looking lot.

One man came forward from the rest, Orval’s second, she assumed, and spoke.  
“I am Pannos of Thenn. Who comes before us?”

“I am Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North. This is Free Man Tormund Giantsbane, and atop the dragon Rhaegal is my brother Lord Jon Snow, advisor to Queen Daenerys Targaryen and commander of her armies.”

“Jon Snow. The famous Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch? You rescued the Free Folk and invited us South of the Wall, but now you sit atop the Queen’s dragon and threaten us if we don’t leave?” Pannos asked.

“He invited you South of the Wall to save your lives. The Thenn chose to remain beyond it and under their own protections during the Long Night, did they not?” Sansa asked in return. 

“We did. We’ve since changed our minds.”

“You may have changed your minds, but what you did not do was fight the dead alongside your fellow Free Folk. You remained in Thenn, all but your Magnar and his son, Magnar after him. They came. And Sigorn is now husband to a Northern Lady and Lord of a new Northern House. But all the others remained to let the rest of us live or die at the hands of the Night King’s army. We won, so now you come to invade my lands and take castles from my people.”

“Not take, trade. With the dragon Queen. But it seems that’s no longer a possibility. You killed our new Magnar, and took the Targaryen girl and babe. Now you come with one of her dragons to burn and kill and drive us out. The Thenn are of the First Men, just as your Stark ancestors were. What gives you the right to this land but not us?”

“The same right you have to your lands in Thenn. If my men came to take homes from your people, I would expect the Thenns to defend themselves in kind. Or would you simply give them to us because we shared ancestors thousands of years ago? I think not.”

“So then leave or die are the options you’ve come to present?”

“What I present is something you cannot take by force or coercion. An Alliance that can only be forged within the bounds of mutual respect.

Before Pannos could reply, three men broke from each of the group’s flanks and galloped forward. She heard the thrum of one, then many crossbows, and a bolt flew past her head to bounce off Rhaegal’s chest. 

In an instant the dragon whipped his tail around and slammed it on the ground in front of her and Tormund, and she heard more bolts hit and deflect off of his shiny green scales.

Tormund pulled her to the ground and under his arm, just as Rhaegal let loose a stream of fire over their heads. His roar and the surge of heat was intense.

When it was done all they heard were Pannos' cries of, “Mercy! Mercy My Lords! My Lady! I did not give the order! All were told to stand down. Mercy please!”

She and Tormund rose slowly to find Pannos and a dozen men still frozen in place on their mounts, while ten other men and horses lay before them, now nothing more than smoking piles of flesh and bone in the charred grass.

“My Lady, I did not give that order! Those man were loyal to Orval and betrayed my instructions. I would never have allowed an attack. It was suicide! Mercy, please!”

Sansa had always thought fear would be the only emotion possible in battle, but what she now felt was rage. A rage so consuming she felt she could spit fire herself. 

“How many men have you left in the castle?”

“About thirty more, my Lady.”

“Go now, and get them. All of them. Bring them here. I want every Thenn in Deepwood Motte before me, before the remains of those who chose not to follow your orders. Only then will we talk of the Alliance I was about to present to you before… this.” She gestured to the smoking dead. 

“We’ll wait. Go.”

As the Thenns turned and rode back to the Motte, she exhaled and hugged Tormund, then Jon after he climbed down from the Rhaegal’s back. 

“Are you alright Sansa?” The worry on his face dark as he held her at arms length and looked her over.

“I’m fine, Jon.” She assured him. 

She then went to Rhaegal, and actually threw her arms as far around the dragon’s neck as she could reach.

“Thank you, Rhaegal. Thank you. You saved us, you big beautiful dragon!” 

The beast began his deep rumbling purr in reply, and she laughed, feeling the rise in her blood and the shaking in her hands begin to settle.

“That was good thinking, girl. Sending for the rest. Let them all see what comes of thinking to ambush a dragon. They can all accept the terms, or none of them can. And at least the castle will still stand when it’s over.” Tormund said.

“They’ll accept. Pannos was ready to hear terms before the others broke rank. I could see it.” Jon added.

It was almost dusk by the time four score Thenns stood before them, and before what remained of the others. 

Sansa addressed them, and presented the terms of the Alliance. As she spoke, she could see the surprise in Pannos' dark eyes.

“You asked me for mercy, and mercy is what I always intended to offer you and your people, Pannos. You were Orval's second correct? And his death now puts you in command until all Thenn can come together to choose another Magnar?” She asked.

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Then I’ll hear your choice first. And after, the others.”

“I agree to the terms of the Alliance on behalf of myself and my family, Wardeness.”

Once she had heard the same from every man there, she turned back to Pannos. 

“Choose two men to leave in command. At daybreak one shall leave with those who wish to return to Thenn, and the other shall leave with those that wish to stay in the North. Those will be led to Eastwatch, and take word of what was agreed upon this night.”

“And myself?” Pannos asked.

“You’ll be taking your first dragon ride. We’ll be visiting Bear Island first and then Last Hearth. You’ll advise your people of our Alliance, and allow them to make the same choices you and your men made here.”

The look on the man’s face was almost worth the entire journey. 

“Don’t be frightened. Tell me Pannos, do you have hope’s of becoming the next Magnar when your people gather to vote? If so, then think of this as your very best campaign strategy. ‘Pannos, the first Thenn to ride a dragon, and save his people with an Alliance that brings them new possibilities’.”

The man’s face broke into a smile. He approached her, and Tormund took a step forward defensively. She stayed him as she saw Pannos extended only a hand. She took it, and he placed his other over hers, giving her a respectful nod.

“The Wardeness of the North is as clever as she is merciful. I look forward to many years of peace between our people, my Lady. Let’s take that dragon ride.”


	43. His Face

Chapter 43 – His Face 

*Sandor*

“Something’s wrong.” The little Wolf said. “She’s never called out to me before.” 

“Why, what's...?” Lord Jonah started to ask.

But she was already gone. Gone in the way her Raven brother would go. Off into her mind. Shit.

“Hang on to her and let’s get back to Winterfell, NOW.” Sandor barked at the boy, but before they could even kick their horses, they were set upon by six mounted men.

The Umber had the sense to push the Little Wolf down onto his horse’s neck as he drew his sword. 

The men were all trained swordsmen, that was easy enough to tell, but green at battle. None knew what to do with an angry giant of a courser, kicking and biting anything that came near, or an angry Hound atop him, doing the same.

The boy had taken one man down already, and injured another, but was struggling to keep Arya from slipping off his horse as he maneuvered.

Sandor cut down a second as he led Stranger astride Jonah's horse, and plucked up the Little Wolf by her waist, throwing her over Stranger’s neck. 

Unencumbered, the boy made short work of two more men like a seasoned warrior, and Sandor finished the last of them. 

“Who the fuck were they?” Lord Jonah asked, dropping to his feet and examining his kills.

“Lannister men. Unblooded, but well trained and well paid.”

“How do you know for certain?”

Sandor kicked at one of the dead men’s purses. “I know their look, and I know the sound of Lannister coin.”

None of them were Kettleblack though, and that was a problem. They needed to get back to the castle. 

He mounted Stranger, and pulled the girl into a sitting position in front of him. Her loose limbs and dead weight setting his teeth on edge.

“I had her, you know.” The boy said. 

“I know you did. But you took two more men down without her. And may be I’m just used to looking after her.”

“Arya.” He shook her shoulder. “Get your arse back here, girl.”

“She can’t, she’s…”

“With her wolf. A wharg. But we need to know where the fuck she is, and what the hells is going on.”

Not being able to rouse her, all they could do was put their heels to their horses and make for Winterfell. 

He did his best to recall what guards were to be on the gate tonight. He and Jaime had decided to use their best men at night. Paid them extra coin for what was usually a night of staring off at fuck-all, but it was worth knowing he’d never again find two useless cunts asleep at the gate. They had argued the point of extra coin, but he was certain Jaime Lannister never spent a night of his life fighting sleep, staring off at fuck-all himself. 

When the Little Wolf came back to herself it was with a start, and she nearly flung herself off Stranger. He grabbed her arm before she fell.

“The gate! They’re through the North gate! Came in with oxcarts, two farmers, dead now, more behind them. The guards are rousing the others. Nymeria, some of the pack, we took five in the woods. We have to hurry!”

“How many, girl? How many?” he barked at her.

She had the wolf in her eyes still, when she met his. He could almost smell the blood on her muzzle. “Fifty. Less the ones in the woods.”

His fury rose, and he growled in rage and frustration. Kettleblack had brought fifty men to his Little Bird’s castle. To hurt her or take her, the Little Wolf, her brothers. To kill her people. His people now. And he had foolishly thought the man had come alone, just nosing about for information. Up here it was easy to forget about Kings Landing, Cersei, and what her coin would buy. How desperate she was.

He and Jonah pushed their horses harder, and were over the rise and within sight of the castle in minutes. 

When they flew through the North Gate they saw one guard lay dead, and a trail of bodies that started just past the inner wall. The yard was in chaos.

There were six wolves tearing into as many men; dressed and half dressed Guard fighting, Jaime shouting orders to them while taking on a man; Northerners and Wildlings streaming out of the Hall, drunk or not, ready to fight. 

When the Little Wolf drew her Needle and slid down off Stranger, running for the Keep, he shouted to Jonah. “Follow her, and find her brother!”

Stranger lurched forward suddenly and almost threw him as the horse kicked at a man approaching his rear. He heard the crunch of bone and a sword clatter to the dirt.

He urged the horse forward, and ran down another man as he yelled to Jaime, “Where is Brienne?”

“Holding the Keep. She sent Poderick to hold the guest floors.” He replied, driving his sword through his opponent’s throat.

Ghost, Nymeria, and two smaller wolves tore past him, and the GreatJon came into view, raging and cutting down men left and right with his two-handed great sword. Beyond him Wildlings were swinging their axes almost joyfully. 

As he jumped from Stranger, a hand grabbed at the reins, and he nearly took it off. It was Tom, with a pitchfork in one hand.

“What the fuck are you doing boy?”

“Fighting, M’Lord”

“Fuck that, not with a pitchfork, get back to the stables. On the horse. Hold on, he'll do the rest.”

The boys eyes went wide, but he threw himself up on Stranger fast enough once a screaming soldier came cutting their way, and was off. 

Sandor took the man with one cut, and stormed into the fray, growling and swinging. He wanted the blood of every last one of these cunts on his sword. 

When he saw Jaime pass him again he called out. “It’s your fucking sister! She sent Kettleblack. Find him, and I want him alive. I want to ask him a few questions, and then kill him myself!”

“Kettleblack? Are you sure?”

“Aye. FIND HIM.” He turned to hear a familiar battle cry, and saw Brienne cutting her way through three men. 

“The Keep?” he yelled to her.

“Pod and the Umber boys have it! Arya’s with Brandon!”

Slowly, the clash of steel, snarl of wolves, and screams of pain died off. 

By the time it was over, fifty Lannister soldiers had fallen in good time to half-trained Winterfell Guard, half-drunk Northern Lords, a handful of Wildlings, and six wolves.

The Little Wolf and Jonah appeared at his side. “Where is he?” she asked, her rage now cold as ice. 

“Don’t know yet, sent Ser Jaime to find him. He has to be here. Who has your brother?”

“Arron has the family floor. Poderick’s on the guest floor, and Harry is with Bran in the solar.”

Soon the rest joined them. Brienne returned with Jaime, the GreatJon came wiping the blood from his sword, and one little Hand of the Queen waddled angrily their way.

“Gods be damned, this is Cersei’s work. She’s become desperate and stupid. Who led this mess? Do we know?”

“Kettleblack. I saw him in town tonight, at the Inn. He was asking after Littlefinger, but then rode south. I should have known that wasn’t all of it.”

“Like I said, desperate and stupid. Especially to send that fool. Only he would lead fifty men to their slaughter, when I’m sure all Cersei wanted was a Stark or two quietly taken and locked back in the Red Keep for some insurance. She knows we’re coming for her, and she knows she can’t win. Where is he? Dead along with the others I hope?”

Before anyone could answer Tyrion, a scream of agony and an uproar of horses came from the stables. They all ran in that direction, drawing their swords. 

What they found was Osmund Kettleblack, with Tom’s pitchfork in his belly, bleeding out slowly onto the dirt and straw of the stable floor. Wexley and Thomas stood backup with their own pitchforks raised.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Sandor put his hand on Tom’s shoulder a moment, then crouched over Kettleblack and wrapped a hand around his throat. 

“Who did you come for?”

The man was white and shaking. “Lord Baelish. I was sent to make him an offer. An offer to return to the Queen's service."

Tyrion asked the next question, but it was exactly what Sandor was thinking himself. 

“My sweet sister cares nothing for Littlefinger or his service, but she thought he was still here, and had influence over Sansa and Arya. Cersie wanted the girls, didn’t she? Was there a bonus for finishing the job she began on Brandon Stark, as well? For killing Jaime and I? That had to have been on her agenda as well. If not, why all the men?"

“I was just supposed to talk to Lord Baelish.”

“I dont think so. If that was your only objective, once you found out he was dead, you could have just left. But rather than return to Cersei empty handed, you and your men stormed Winterfell. Sad enough you couldn’t take on the occupants of the castle, what would you have done once word was sent to the thousands of the Queen’s men outside these walls? Gods, but you’re stupid.”

Tyrion turned to the others. “I’ll go have a word with Grey Worm. I want Unsullied at every gate. My gift to Lady Sansa, until your Guard are replenished sufficiently. Do whatever you like with this one.”

“Mercy, my Lord! For the sake of your House! I serve House Lannister!”

Jaime stepped next to his brother, and laughed down at the man in the dirt.  
“Today’s not your lucky day Kettleblack. As the heir to House Lannister, it gives me great pleasure to inform you that your service has been terminated.” And with that Jaime drew his dagger and opened the man’s throat.

Sandor went to Tom, who watched the whole scene with coloring as white as the dead man.

“You did good, boy. You two as well.” He said to the other hands. “That’s the last time I tell the Master of Horse he can’t fight with a pitchfork. Go find yourselves a table in the Hall and a cup of ale. Tell the other lads you just took down Ser Osmund Kettleblack, Kings Guard.” He laughed. 

As the others left the stables, the Little Wolf grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Clegane, no word of this can reach Cersei. We need to go see Bran. Now.” She pointed to the dead man, “And I need his face.”


	44. Dragon Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter to write. I began this story for my own entertainment, then once I began posting it, naturally thoughts of 'but will the people reading it like this...? or this...?'. So this chapter was me not worrying about a thing, and just entertaining myself again with a little 'break in all the tension' chapter. Plus I just love writing drunk Sandor... LOL

Chapter 44 – Dragon Watch 

*Sandor*

When he finally got to his rooms that night, it was only a few hours from dawn. 

Trey had left him a plate of sweets from dinner, but all he wanted was the wine, and of that, the smart lad had left him two flagons. One was probably meant for morning, but it was, in fact, almost morning. He poured himself a cup, drained it, then poured another. 

The Little Wolf had dragged him to the family solar before Kettleblack's body had even cooled, and there he stood, covered in blood, as the Raven boy calmly told them he didn’t see the attack coming. He wanted to ask the boy what the fucking point of being this Raven was then? Arya hadn’t looked all that pleased either.

When he asked after Sansa, he was told, with the same maddening calm, that all was well. She would be back this day. 

For fucks sake, he wouldn’t believe a bloody thing until he saw her with his own eyes.

The Little Wolf was a Faceless Man, that was the next bit he was supposed to believe. She was going to take Kettleblack’s face, and would use it to walk right into the Red Keep, up to Cersie herself, and end this battle between Queens. No need for dragon fire, armies, and blood. 

Well, he didn’t like it. Faceless Man or not, it was sending the girl into a pit of vipers, to win or die. Or win and still die. She wasn’t immortal, he had seen the arrow in her neck, held her unconscious body. Fuck whatever face she was wearing, it wasn’t a shield.

Apparently Jon Snow wasn’t convinced of the success of this plan either. Hadn’t even brought it to the little Queen yet for her blessing. It was all madness. 

He skipped the cup after the first flagon was empty, and drank the wine straight from the second. 

He needed to sleep a few hours, and may be when he woke, he’d see a green dragon from his window. His Little Bird would be back. She would come find him. Touch his face and kiss him in that slow, sweet way of hers.

They would sort this nonsense out together. Or just fuck. Both sounded good at the moment. But he couldn’t see the West Field from any of his windows. Shit.  
How was he going to see the fucking dragon? 

Ah, he had an idea. He stood from his chair and felt the wine go from his empty stomach to his head. No matter. Still wearing his bloody clothes, he left his rooms and took his time climbing the one flight of stairs. 

Making it to the Little Bird’s door, he opened it, but remembered the darkness from his last late night visit. That fucking little table with its clatter of things. He went back down the hall to take a torch from the wall.

Holding the flame well away from himself, he entered her room. He still bumped into the fucking little table. Fucking wine. When he raised the torch he saw wood laid in her hearth for a fire, and her pretty table set with pretty cloths, and more wine. 

This HAD been a good idea.

He tossed the torch atop the wood, watched as it slowly caught, and light filled the room.

Her chairs were too close to the fire, and the window was what he wanted anyway. Picking up a delicate little chair in one hand, and her flagon of wine in the other, he went window to window until he found the one that faced West.

Staring out the window, he took a drink of the wine. Honeyed shit. But it was wine. As he stood and drank, he watched the sky. Nothing was there to see. Not yet. 

His thoughts ran to the Little Bird’s legs. Her legs in those damned breeches. Milly had made them so slim, they hugged her legs like a second skin. Nothing like a man’s breeches. He could look at her legs in those breeches for days. Who would sew more of them for her if Lord Blacksmith took her away? He liked Milly. He liked his jerkin. Too bad about the blood. But it would wash out. Fade away eventually. Just like the men it came from.

He realized he was still holding the chair, and set it down. Draining the rest of the honeyed wine, he flung the flagon toward the table, missed, and sat heavily in the chair to continue his dragon watch. 

He was only seated for a moment or two when the chair collapsed like kindling underneath him.

“Fucking Gods damned bloody shit chair!” he rose unsteadily and kicked at the offending pieces of wood and fabric. He chucked a handful of it in the hearth. 

Fuck the window, he needed to sleep. He wanted her bed. That soft, sweet smelling bed, like her soft sweet smelling skin. 

He knocked into her dressing table on his way to the large featherbed, but only the brushes and combs fell, and the stool was easily kicked out of the way. 

He needed to get these bloody clothes off. Her sheets were so clean. But after sitting and bending to wrestle his boots, his head swam and spun. Lay for a moment. I’ll just lay for a moment until it passes. 

He flopped backwards and raised a corner of her cover, rolling it around himself until he was laying on his stomach. Wrapped in her scent. Just for a moment. 

***

When he awoke hours later it was late morning, he was being hit with an iron hearth poker, and one, then two, women were screaming. Another was laughing. 

***

*Sansa*

She, Jon, and Tormund knew something was amiss immediately. They could see the smoke from the pyres even before Winterfell came into view. Her heart had leapt into her throat, and Jon urged Rhaegal on faster.

They all ran from the West field to the gate. In her panic she grabbed the first guard she saw by his collar and demanded to know what happened. The man sputtered out the broad details of the attack, and she only exhaled once she heard Winterfell took injuries, and lost only one guard. The dead burning were not her people. 

Once the relief passed, the anger set in. Cersie Lannister. She would see that vile woman dead if it was the last thing she did. Until that time, she would always feel like she was still running. 

They found Arya and Bran in the family solar, and as food and drink were brought in for them, Arya told them the whole tale. 

“Do you see now Jon? It has to be Arya. The face was sent to her for this purpose. It’s meant to be her.” Bran said. "I didn't see the steps, because I already saw the fall."

Jon looked absolutely miserable. She knew he didn’t want Arya anywhere near Kings Landing, or any of this assassin business. But it was hard to argue with the sense of the plan, and frankly, the face.

“Fine. I’ll talk to Tyrion first, then Dany. If she agrees, then we’ll leave as soon as possible.” Jon said wearily. 

“See the Queen today. March her army tomorrow. You and Arya fly the day after. It’s how it must be.”

Poor Jon dropped his head into his hands.  
“Others take me, may I sleep a few hours before I fly to see Dany? Is that meant to be? If not I may fall right off Rhaegal’s back, and probably not mind at that point.”

“Yes, sleep if you must.”

“I must.” He said as he left the room, slamming the door behind himself. 

“Bran, he’s exhausted, we all are. Why must this happen so quickly?”

“It’s how it must be.”

She sighed deeply. She was about to slam a few doors herself, but fell back on her courtesies to keep as much peace as she could. 

“Arya, would you walk with me? I need to find Sandor.”

Her sister rose as she gave Bran a quick kiss, Tormund one as well, and made it out of the room with no doors slammed. 

“You do realize you just left Tormund alone with Bran.” Arya laughed. 

“He’ll survive.”

“Which one?” 

“Good question.” Sansa chuckled. “Where did you last see Sandor?"

“He left the solar last night looking about as happy as Jon. He’s probably still asleep in his chambers.”

They climbed the stairs together to the second floor, and were about to turn down the corridor when they heard the screams from the floor above. Arya immediately drew her dagger and ran. Sansa followed but wasn’t as quick as her cat-like sister. 

The screams led them to Sansa’s own chambers, and when she entered after Arya, who was now laughing, she began screaming herself. 

“EVVIE, NO! IT’S SANDOR! STOP!”

Her chambermaid was screaming, “It’s another! It’s another!” and beating a wrapped up Sandor on the bed with her hearth poker.

“EVVIE, STOP THIS INSTANT!”

The girl lowered the poker and let it drop to the floor, backing away, crying now.

Sansa crawled onto the bed and tugged at the bloody covers, revealing a scowling Sandor. 

“Are you hurt? Talk to me! Are you hurt? The blood!”

“Not mine, and the wench is lucky I was wrapped and padded. Plus she hits like a bloody girl.”

Sansa sat back on her heels, and began laughing. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. 

She looked around the room at the damage a clearly drunk Sandor had wreaked, then at her sister, who was holding the distraught and confused Evvie, and laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes. 

Sandor was trying unsuccessfully to unroll himself from the cover, and the sight caused her and Arya to laugh even harder. 

“Fucking hells. If you witches are going to keep cackling, go do it in the corridor. My damned head’s about to split. I think it was the only good shot the wench got in.”

"I think that was the drink, not the poker." Arya offered.

Sansa covered her mouth and tried to stifle her laugh.

"Enough out of you, girl. Don't you have a face to go peel off a dead man?"

Arya took Evvie in hand, and led the girl to the door. “Let’s go get you a strong drink before the aurochs manages to free himself, and I’ll explain everything on the way.” She gave Sansa one more look, and the laughter threatened them both again. 

Once the door closed she unwrapped her still drunk betrothed, and layed the cover over him properly. 

“Well, none of this was the homecoming I expected, but I’m too tired to care. I’m glad Evvie didn’t hurt you.”

He just lifted the bloody cover to her, and she crawled underneath, letting him curl himself around her. 

“I’m sorry I messed your pretty bed, Little Bird. I was waiting for the dragon. Did it go well?”

“Very well. And I don’t care about the bed. Just hold me.”

And he did, as they both fell dead asleep.


	45. Moving North

Chapter 45 – Moving North

*Sansa*

When she woke, the sun had just begun to set. She was groggy, stiff, and still in her riding clothes.

“Sandor.” She nudged him. “We have to get up. It's almost time for dinner.”

“We’re dirty, and we stink, Little Bird.”

“All the more reason to get up. We need to bathe and dress. I must address the Lords tonight at dinner."

“Godswood.”

She laughed. “Alright. If that’s what it takes to get you up. A bath in the Godswood isn't the worst idea.”

“Not like the one I had last night."

“No, most definitely not as bad as that. I’ll call for Evvie to bring up fresh clothes for you. Maybe a bite to eat first, and some wine?”

“Gods. No wine. Your girl is probably still crying in a corner somewhere. Send for Trey. Boy has enough sense not to beat a sleeping man at least.”

“A drunk sleeping man, in the wrong bed, covered in blood, just hours after the castle was attacked. It was an honest mistake, as I see it.”

“Humph.”

She kissed him once, then twice, and wrinkled her nose. “We do stink. I’ll go see to Evvie and Trey. You get up. Then we’ll go to the Godswood.”

“Alright.” He yawned and stretched.

She went to find Evvie in her room down the corridor. When she came to the door, Sansa apologized to her maid for the earlier incident. 

“I don’t blame you one bit Evvie. I most likely would have done the same. As you know, Sandor and I are betrothed, and to be married soon. I know it’s a bit unconventional, but you may find him in my rooms before then. Please don’t be alarmed, he’s gruff and can speak harshly, but I promise you he’s a good man, and will be a wonderful Lord.”

“I know, m’Lady. He’s already spoken well of about the castle. I just wasn’t expecting him… in that state… in your bed… last night. I’d like to apologize to him, if I may.”

“You may. He’s just waking now. If you would, find Trey, his chamber boy, and ask him to bring up fresh clothes for Lord Clegane. Then bring up some red wine and whatever hot rolls you can sneak away from Mathilde, and bring them to my chambers. You can make your apologies then."

“Yes, m'Lady.”

“Oh, and two drying cloths as well, please.”

No need to go into details of what they were for, the girl could figure that out, or not, on her own.

She then went down the corridor and knocked on Arya’s door, thinking there was only a small chance she’d find her sister in her rooms at this hour, but was pleasantly surprised when she called out. 

“Enter.”

She found her sister looking through her armoire, and throwing clothes onto her bed in a huff.

“What are you doing, Arya?”

“I just realized that when Gendry leaves with Milly in a few days, we’ll have no seamstress in Winter Town, save the girls Milly has sewing for her. You only had a few outfits made for me, and I never bothered to have her make more, and now what will I do for new clothes? Everything else in here are dresses. I’m never going back to wearing dresses."

Her sister emphasized the point by kicking at one of the dresses that had slipped from the bed to the floor. 

“Since when do you care about clothes? And why would Gendry be taking away our seamstress?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Gendry and Milly fell in love when they met in town. And now they’ll get married and leave, and I’ll have no new clothes! Gods damn it. Don’t you see?”

“I see that you’re upset, but I don’t think it's about the clothes. Gendry and Milly? Really? What happened to finding him a highborn wife? The Lord of Storms End marrying a seamstress? That’s madness.”

Her sister sighed, and sat on top of the clothes on the bed. “It’s not madness, it's love. And he’s not a Lord, not for real, not yet. He’s still just Gendry, the blacksmith. He doesn’t see a lowborn seamstress, he just sees a girl he's crazy for. And it’s fine. He’ll grow into a Lord, and there’s no reason she can’t be his Lady. It’s just…”

“You still love him?”

“I do, but not enough to be his wife. Do you understand? It’s Jonah that makes me go wobbly. Like you for Sandor. He’s the one I want to be with every hour of the day. He doesn’t talk of marriage, he talks of adventure. Travels. All the things we could do, and the places we could go together. He doesn’t see me as a wife in a castle. He’s a second son, I’m a second daughter. We fit. I love him. I’m just a bit jealous about Gendry too. Isn’t that stupid?”

“No, not stupid. It’s hard to see someone who was in love with you, and who you were intimate with, suddenly in love with someone else. But it sounds like it may all work out for the best? And like you said before, Gendry wasn’t in the solar that night Bran spoke of our destiny. Jonah was.”

“He was.” She smiled.

“Have you and he…?” 

“No. I went and got myself shot in the neck first.”

Arya stood up and put her hands on her hips, looked at the clothes on the bed again with a scowl. “And believe it or not, I am a bit upset about the clothes. Jonah told me how fine I looked the night of the feast, in the black and grey outfit, and I went all blushy and stupid. Then yesterday I saw how curvy and fierce you looked in that.” she said pointing to Sansa’s now dirty and slept in gift from Sandor.

"I wanted something similar to make Jonah look at me like Sandor was looking at you, with his bloody tongue about hanging out. Oh Gods, I really have turned into a stupid girl!” 

Sansa laughed. “Hardly, you’re talking of breeches and leathers and jerkins, not gowns and laces. I wouldn’t fret.”

Arya got up and went back to her armoire. “Jon told me about the Thenns. I’m glad it went well. And the dragon ride?”

“Incredible. I actually came to ask you about Jon. Has he left to see the Queen yet?”

“Yes, he left just a bit ago. I know he doesn’t like any of this, but it will work. You know I can do this, Sansa.”

If there was anything Sansa had learned over the last few months, it was to never underestimate her little sister.

“I know. He’s just worried for your safety. We all are. And you have your… face ready?” She asked.

“Oh yes, its rather easy, all you have to do is…”

“Oh Gods, Arya, I’d rather not know, please.”

Sansa went to stand next to her sister at her armoire, and looked through what was left hanging. She picked up the black leather breeches and deep grey jerkin, studying them.

“I can alter these if you like. Make them a bit more,” she stuck out one hip and threw her head back dramatically, gesturing up and down the length of her own outfit. “Curvy and fierce. You may still be a tiny thing, but you have a womans body now, let’s show it off.”

“Could you? I’d much rather Jonah see me flying off on a dragon to kill a Queen looking like a warrior princess than like a ten year old boy.” She laughed. 

“I’ll see to the alterations, and have them back to you before you go. If you go. We’ll have to wait on Jon's return before we know.”

“Oh, I’ll be going, Sansa. You heard Bran. It’s destiny.”

*Sansa*

Back in her chambers Trey had arrived with Sandor’s clothes. He was a small boy, about thirteen if she had to guess, and had a blush on him as he greeted her that could rival some of her own.

He thought to bring wine, clearly knowing his Lord well, and despite not wanting it earlier, Sandor was already pouring himself a cup. Trey excused himself, and she went to pour a cup of her own. It was sour red, but did well enough to rid the taste of sleep from her mouth. 

When she heard Evvie's tentative knock, she looked at Sandor and said, “She wants to apologize. Be kind.” before she called for the girl to enter.

Evvie carried a tray loaded with three kinds of hot rolls, butter, and honey, along with two flagons of wine. One sweet and honeyed, and the other sour red again.

She set the tray on the table and gave Sandor an unsure smile. “M’Lord. I told Mathilde the rolls were for Lord Clegane and Lady Stark, and she added a few extra and some butter and honey. She said I’d do well to keep you from getting hungry in the future.”

Sandor’s loud bark of laughter startled her, but she smiled again a little more surely. “M’Lord, I want to say how very sorry I am… for earlier… hitting you and such… I thought…”

“Never mind, girl. Evvie. At least you fought. I’m sure I was a sight. Just glad you don’t carry a sword instead of a poker. May be I’ll teach you how to swing your weapon properly one day.”

He had already begun buttering rolls and popping them into his mouth. 

“I’ll see to fresh bedding m’Lady. Will you be wanting a bath before dinner?”

“Bugger those tubs. We’ll be in the Godswood for our bath.” He started unclasping his jerkin, and Evvie’s eyes went wide. He took it off and held it out to her. “Can you see what can be done for the blood, girl? Evvie?”

She nodded and took the heavy leather from him like it was a living thing that might bite. She should be glad he hadn't given her the breeches as well, Sansa thought with a smile. 

“Thank you Evvie, that will be all. I’ll send for you tonight if I need you. I’m not sure what time I’ll be back up.”

*Sandor*

His head felt better after some food and wine, and the thought of both the Godswood pool, and his Little Bird in it with him, improved his mood.

They made it to the wood with only a few glances, but no one inquired as to where they were going with their clothes in hand.

When they arrived under the Weirwood, he took her things from her and hung them on a branch with his own.

She was standing looking solemnly into the face in the tree, but turned to him and smiled as he came to her. Her pale skin and red hair next to the pale tree and red leaves gave him pause. She prayed at one, and he the other.

He bent to kiss her softly, and began unclasping her dove grey jerkin. The leather was just as soft as it looked. It had the same clasps as his, just smaller and fewer. Slipping it off her shoulders and down her arms, he reached to throw it over a branch behind her. 

He pulled at the ribbon that held her tunic closed, and bent again to kiss the white skin of her throat as he pulled the fabric open around her neck. Just as he was about to lift it over her head, the shrubbery spoke.

“You should probably stop. Unless of course you’d like to invite me to join in, it’s not a situation that arises often, but can be good fun when it does, in which case, by all means proceed.”

“Turn the fuck around and go right the fuck back to where you came from if you want to live to see your dinner tonight, Lannister.” Sandor growled. 

“Did you hear that? ‘Lannister’. That means we’re still friends.” The shrubbery soon revealed the bloody Imp, and he was waddling their way.

He made to move towards him, thinking today was the day he’d finally be driven to kill the little fucker, but Sansa stayed him with a hand on his chest.

“Lord Tyrion.” She greeted him. 

“Pardon me, Lady Sansa, I truly hate to interrupt, but I needed to speak with you sooner, rather than later, about something. A little matter concerning our sisters.”

“I see. You may speak freely in front of Sandor. He knows of the plan as well.” She drew the ribbon at her throat, closing her tunic, replaced her jerkin, and sat on the great log before the tree, inviting the little Lannister to join her. 

Sandor remained standing with his arms crossed, now scowling about more than the interruption. 

“Your brother Jon came to speak with me before he left to see our Queen, and told me of the plan to use your sister's skills and Kettleblack’s face. It’s a good plan. Brilliant in fact. It will save lives if it works, only not my sister’s.”

“You didn’t join the dragon Queen to spare Cersei’s life.” Sandor said.

“No, just the opposite. I know she must die. Cersie has caused death and misery to a countless number of people. She’s tried to have me killed more times than I can count, and now she’s made two attempts on Jaime’s life as well. But I’ve learned recently that there’s a complication. She’s pregnant.”

“Oh for fucks sake.” Sandor barked.

“Pregnant!” The Little Bird exclaimed. “How did you learn this?”

“Jaime. The baby is his. She told him right before she threatened to kill him, and he left Kings Landing to come North..”

“And you both believe her?” Sansa asked, raising a brow. 

“No. I’ll never believe another word she breathes, and Jaime has his doubts as well. I didn’t mention this to your brother because it will make little difference to our Queen. If anything, it’s even more of a reason for her to want Cersei dead. But on the very slight chance this pregnancy is real…”

“You want Arya to spare her life for the sake of the baby. But what then Tyrion? How do you plan to explain that to the Queen?" 

“Let me worry about that. If Cersei is not pregnant, there will be nothing to explain. If she is, well, Jaime wants his child. The other three were lost before he could ever claim them as his own. He’s already discussed it with Brienne, but he would like your blessing as well, considering his new status and service to House Stark.”

Sansa sighed. “I would never presume to keep a man from his child. Of course he would have my blessing. You’ll just have to convince Arya. That might be even harder than explaining it to the Queen. Arya's wanted Cersei dead for years, and finally has her opportunity.”

“When Jon returns with word, I’ll speak to them both. If we fly the day after tomorrow, I’ll be there to take responsibility for whatever happens.”

“We?” Sandor asked.

“We. Seems I’ll finally be taking that dragon ride I’ve always wanted. I left Kings Landing as a fugitive in a stinking crate, and shall return as the Hand of the Queen atop a mighty dragon. That should be worthy of at least one song.”

After Tyrion finally left them in peace, it was the Little Bird that came to him and pulled up his tunic, running her hands up his chest. “We’d best get to our bath if we expect to make it to dinner.”

He began to unclasp her jerkin once again, but was struck with a thought. “Why would Jaime Lannister need your blessing to take his baby, if there is a baby? Or need to discuss it with Brienne?"

“Because they’re to be married. And I’m giving them the Dreadfort. House Lannister is moving North.”


	46. Northern Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a looong chapter... probably could have been two chapters, but hey, it's New Year's Day, and I had nothing else to do, so why not?? 😊

Chapter 46 – Northern Style 

*Sandor*

Finally in the pool, Sansa told him of how she came to the decision to give Jaime and Brienne the Dreadfort. Bran had told her of the day Jaime slew King Aerys, and what the Kingslayer's crime had prevented. Sandor had been there during the last year of the Mad King’s reign, and knew what that man was capable of. Turns out Jaime Lannister knew even more. And afterwards, he had never told a soul until Brienne. 

His Little Bird was beautiful, that was easily seen, and she knew her people and her politics, but he knew what would set her apart from most leaders was something deeper. Having seen the bloodlust for power in Kings Landing, and having suffered the loss of half her family in it’s name, she was wiser now, yet despite her pain and loss, still able to find forgiveness for those who had shown themselves worthy.

She also spoke to him of her dragon ride, and what had transpired with Pannos and the Thenns. When he heard of the ambush, and that a crossbow bolt had almost taken her, he was nearly sick. He would owe a debt of gratitude to that fucking dragon, Rhaegal, and Tormund until his dying day for keeping her from harm.

He had washed with the pretty smelling soap she had brought along, not even caring that he’d smell like some powdery Lord afterwards, because once he was done she took the hand in which he held the soap and moved it between her breasts. Invited him to wash her.

He wasn’t even sure how he completed his task. His brain stopped working but for registering the feeling of his soapy hands all over her body, in her hair. How had he lived this long without such pleasures before now? 

Soon he had her in bubbles from the top of her head to the water lapping at her thighs. When she rose from rinsing herself under the water, he was overwhelmed again with the thought of her white skin and the white tree, her red hair and the red leaves. He had no idea why, but suddenly he needed to be joined with her there, under the Weirwood. 

He took her hand and led her through the pool to the bank and picked her up, setting her out of the water, then lifted himself out. She looked at him curiously, but never said a word as he led her under the tree. 

He could have spread one of the drying cloths onto the ground for them, but knew that would have been wrong the moment she layed down upon the red leaves, and raised her hand to him.

He took her with a sense of something more, as if each time he sunk himself into her, it was a promise uttered. He turned them onto his back and watched her atop him, and her movements were promises too. 

When he felt her pleasure come, he sat up with her in his lap, and found his own as they locked eyes and a wind rustled all the leaves above them at once. 

Afterwards they both looked up to watch and listen. Their breaths rising to join the wind through the tree.

He looked back at her. “Little Bird, that was…”

She had tears in her eyes, but a smile on her lips. “That was a wedding. Our wedding. Before the Old Gods. We may marry here before the Heart Tree in a few days as others look on, but this, I think this was the wedding the Old Gods meant for just the two of us.”

“We didn’t say words.”

“Not aloud. But I heard them just the same.”

“Aye. I did too.”

She laughed through her tears. “And somehow you knew how to take a bride before the Old Gods. Are you sure you weren’t secretly born in the North, Sandor?”

“Was born in Clegane Keep, but it was said my mother was of the North. Don’t know if there was any truth to it.”

“You never mentioned it.”

“Never thought much about it. I barely remember her after all these years. Can’t see her face any longer. Just remember her singing to me at night. To my sister.”

“There must be truth to it. I think the Old Gods just called you home.”

“Home is wherever you are, Little Bird.” He kissed her. 

“We’re covered in leaves.”

“Prettiest wedding dress I’ve ever seen.”

She laughed. “I may need something a little different when we’re here the next time.”

“Good thing you’re skilled with a needle, Lord Blacksmith is soon to make off with your seamstress.”

“So I’ve heard.” 

“Well, back into the pool, girl. Let's set our wedding clothes afloat, then I suppose we still have to go to dinner?”

“We do."

They rinsed, then dried and dressed.  
He watched as she combed out her hair, then handed him the comb and her black ribbon, and turned her back.

After he braided her hair and secured the ribbon at the end, she took the comb from him, and pulled out the grey ribbon. Their favor.

“Sit on the log.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “What are you up to Little Bird?”

“Just sit, and trust me.”

He did as she bid, and soon she was behind him, combing his hair. It felt surprisingly good to have someone else do it. No wonder these Ladies spent hours having their hair seen to.

He felt her fingers in his damp hair next, pulling the top half of it back from his face.

“What the hells are you doing, girl?”

She dropped his hair and swatted his shoulder with the comb she pulled from between her teeth. “Hush, you’ll see.”

She brought the top half of his hair back again, and twisted it into a knot, then secured it with the ribbon, tucking the ends into the knot. Once she was done she came around to inspect her work.

“Look how handsome you are with your hair back out of your face. The Northern style suits you.” 

“Aye, that’s what everyone needs, to see more of my face.”

“I love your face. All of it. Our people don’t care about your scars. And don’t let it go to your head, but I’ll have you know all the kitchen girls whisper and swoon that your scars make you look fierce and dangerous.”

He chuckled. “Do they now? Well, I must keep the Northern girls happy then.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him in her way. “I’ll be the only Northern girl you’ll be keeping happy. And this makes me happy.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him. “Now let’s go to dinner.”

“And I suppose you’ll have me up at the High Table again to be gawked at?”

“You are, by way of the Old Gods, my husband now. And in a few days by way of them again, with family and friends to witness it. So you’re stuck with me, Lord Clegane of Winterfell. Even at the table.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad when you say it like that."

"And tonight I have more announcements to make."

"In that case I'll see you to the Hall, then go up and get my sword."

"Can't hurt, especially when I speak of Jaime Lannister. It's beautiful, isn't it? Your new sword. I got to peek at it the other day before Arya gave it to you, but didn't want to ruin her surprise. She did a wonderful job designing it."

"She did."

"She loves you too, Sandor. Her horse, your sword. It's how you tell each other, isn't it? We're all family now. A new family. A new pack."

*Sandor*

Evvie had seen his jerkin cleaned, and had already returned it to his rooms. Trey was there seeing to the hearth, and fetched it for him along with his sword. 

Dinner in the Hall of a castle was rarely a quiet affair, but tonight there was an extra clamor of victory about those in attendance. Word had spread that Lady Stark had quickly dealt with the Thenn invasion.

As he entered the Hall, dinner was already being served. He noticed a few longer glances his way, but paid them little mind, as the High Table caught his attention. 

It was crowded tonight, even with the absence of Jon Snow. 

Already seated there were Sansa alongside Arya and Brandon, Sigorn and Alys, Tormund, Tyrion and Val. The additions were three young Ladies he didn't recognize, and then Jamie and Brienne. He knew what announcement those two bode.

He took the empty seat to the right of Sansa, and next to Arya. 

“What the hells is going on with your hair?” The Little Wolf said by way of a greeting.

“Ask your sister. Was her idea.” He said, pouring himself a cup of wine. 

Sansa leaned over him to address her sister. “I think he looks very handsome. With it back like that, he looks like he could have been born a Northerner. You can see his eyes better now too, grey, just like yours and father’s.”

Arya squinted up, and studied him a moment. “I guess he does, and the dark hair. He’s got a bit of a Mormont brow, and he’s enormous like the Umbers. Proper scowl too. I can see it.” She shrugged. 

“If you two are done discussing me, would one of you pass the meat already?"

Brandon turned to look at him from the Little Wolf's side. "The Old Gods have seen him. And he is a Northern Lord."

"Do the Old Gods ever give a man some privacy?"

The boy just smiled serenely. 

Bloody fucking hells. The only indication Sansa had heard her brother was the color coming to her cheeks. This Stark he may never get used to. 

No one else noticed, or was too smart, to mention his hair.

After the meal was cleared away and the sweets served, Sansa stood to address the Hall. 

“My Lords and Ladies, I have a few announcements to make. You’ve by now heard of our successful meeting with the Thenn.” A cheer went up and cups banged down onto tables.

“Last Hearth, Deepwood Motte, and Bear Island have been freed. The Thenns who wished to stay in the North have agreed to the terms of our Alliance. They will be settled at Eastwatch by the Sea, which will become their seat."

She moved to stand behind Tormund and Sigorn, before she spoke again.

“A Northern Council has been formed of a Lord or Lady from each of our Major Houses, along with Tormund Giantsbane speaking for the Free Folk Tribes, Lord Jon Snow as liaison to the Crown, the Raven Brandon Stark, and the new Magnar of Thenn, once chosen. This council will assist and advise me as Wardeness."

More approval and banging of cups went through the crowd.

“To begin rebuilding the North, we need to fill our castles and lands with families again. So to begin, with the support of the Northern Council, I have granted Alys Karstark and her husband Sigorn of Thenn her ancestral seat, Karhold, and its surrounding lands. Together they will form the new house of Thenn-Karstark, from now into perpetuity.”

Cheers of "Thenn-Karstark!" rang out amongst the cups. 

"Lady Elyse Glover sits here with us tonight, along with her sisters Lady Elayne, and Lady Elia. With heavy hearts we learned Lord Glover and his men perished in the Long Night, but that no longer needs to mean the end of their house. The blood of the Glovers runs in these Ladies veins as strongly as it did in their men. No longer shall a house die if their blood lives on. If I can continue House Stark, so shall Lady Elyse continue House Glover, and her sons and daughters after her. Our men AND our women will keep the North."

This caused the crowd pause, as old traditions were now being broken and reshaped, but it didn't take long for them to understand the importance of it being so, and soon the cups banged again, and he saw the eldest Glover girl exhale a shy smile.

The Lady Stark looked out at her people.

“Change is what will rebuild our North going forward, and it makes me proud to see the North embrace it. I have one last change to announce tonight, a change that comes in the form of another new Northern house to replace one best forgotten.”

Murmurs now went through the Hall as she went to stand behind Jaime and Brienne. 

“Most of you know my former sworn shield, Lady Brienne of Tarth. Her honor, loyalty, and service to House Stark are unquestionable. You also know Ser Jaime Lannister, but only by his reputation and the animosity between our houses; you know of our war and our losses. This is all I knew of him at one time as well. But I speak now of change. We’re all capable of it, both for better or for worse. Ser Jaime came to us as a man changed for the better, after making a vow to my mother. A vow he kept even after her death. He left his former life behind, and fought for us during the Long Night. He's since pledged himself to House Stark, to the North, to our Queen, and in betrothal to Lady Brienne. So with the support of the Northern Council, and in the spirit of change and rebuilding, I have granted Ser Jaime Lannister, now Lord Jaime Lannister, the Dreadfort, former seat of the now extinct House Bolton, to be renamed as he and Lady Brienne see fit. House Lannister will go forward as a Northern house, from now into perpetuity.”

Of course the first to cause trouble was once again the fat fucking Manderly. He rose to his feet with wobbling bluster. 

“That’s preposterous my Lady! House Lannister could never be a Northern house! Neither of them are Northerners! I was never given a vote on this ridiculous proposition!”

The Little Bird just looked at him a moment. When Sandor saw her head tilt, it was enough for him to know the Wolf had returned. 

“Lord Manderly, if I recall correctly, I requested an audience with you twice. And twice I was told you were far too busy to, how did you put it? ‘Attend to the day to day minutiae of frozen Lords and Wildlings squabbling over ice and snow.’ You reminded me that you had a very important port to run in the Southeast. I was quite aware of that, and it's why I sought your participation. Yet now you choose to air your grievances at dinner instead? The Council has formed, without you, and the matter is decided.”

At that point the Council members rose in support, as did the High Table, save the Raven.

“My Lady, Houses Locke, Waterman, Wells, and Marsh stand alongside me in condemning this! The Kingslayer has no honor or loyalty, and does not belong in the North.” With that he nodded to the other men, and they rose as well. 

Sandor felt the tension tighten in the room, and his hand went to his sword, as he saw The Little Wolf and a dozen others do so as well. 

But the Lady Wolf was unflinching. 

“You speak of loyalty, Lord Manderly, and kingslaying. How very interesting. I’m glad you brought it up, because it has reminded me of House Manderly’s shifting loyalties during my brother Robb's war. They shifted quite a bit didn’t they? Along with the men of the houses that stand with you now." Sansa turned to her brother. "Bran, who was Lord Manderly fighting for when my brother Robb, the King in the North, was murdered alongside my mother and Good Sister at the Twins?”

The boy looked up at his sister and then at the fat Lord. “House Frey.”

A clamor of anger now went through the Hall.

“House Frey. Not House Stark, your Liege. So perhaps you shouldn’t speak to me again of loyalty and kingslaying."

"Sansa turned to her sister. "Arya, remind Lord Manderly of what happened to House Frey.”

“Winter came for them. All of them.” The Little Wolf said.

He saw both Jaime and Brienne look between Sansa and Arya. They had never seen the sisters with their claws out and teeth bared to protect their pack.

Lord fat fucker reddened to purple and sputtered. “Lies, my Lady! This boy speaks of lies whispered by enemies! I would never ally myself with the Freys! You bring in Lannisters and Westerners, and expect not to hear lies? You deign to marry one and give the Dreadfort to another? I will not listen to such insults from a woman! Your father would never have dared!”

“My father would have already taken your head for treason. Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t do the same.” Her eyes and words were ice, and yet her composure never wavered.

It was all Sandor could do to not draw his sword. In his mind he was already taking the fat fucker’s head himself, right here in the Hall. 

All eyes turned to Lord Tyrion when he spoke. “He can’t give you a good reason my Lady, and you probably should take his head. He seems to have forgotten our Queen is a woman as well. A woman with a Lannister dwarf as her Hand, speaking with her voice. This has just become a terrifying puppet show for you and your men, Lord Manderly."

Tyrion left his seat and walked to the front of the dias. "Raven Brandon, one more question if you would? Lord Manderly has a brother. A younger brother who he drove from his house for the crime of being born lame and considered an embarrassment, did he not?”

Bran looked at Tyrion. “He did. Harrold Manderly. He’s a good man.”

“A good man who will be found and told he is now by order of the Crown, Lord Harrold of House Manderly. See how easy that was? Lady Stark, what would you like done with this former Lord? His head is still on the table, so to speak.” Tyrion said to Sansa.

“I will grant him the mercy of leaving with his head, as long as it’s never seen in the North again. And you my Lords,” she addressed the others who had stood with him. “would you care to reconfirm your loyalties to House Stark, the North, and the Crown, or would you care to leave now with Lord Manderly? 

All four men sat, and he heard the GreatJon’s familiar laugh from one of the tables. That man was growing on him.

“Lord Clegane, my Western betrothed, and soon to be Northern Lord of Winterfell, and Ser Jaime Lannister, my Western ally and soon to be Northern Lord of House Lannister, would you both be so kind as to show Lord Manderly to the South Gate?"


	47. The Bear

Chapter 47 – The Bear

*Sansa*

After Sandor and Jaime marched Lord Manderly out of the Hall, Sansa called for the fiddler to play to lighten the mood, and had more wine and ale brought out.

She hadn’t expected the incident with Lord Manderly, but was pleased that she kept her composure, and it had served to inadvertently rid her of a Lord she had struggled to trust for quite some time. She made a mental note to gather and send a party of men to find the new Lord Harron Manderly in the morning. 

Arya left the table to find Jonah, and Bran called for a page to bring him up to the library. She poured herself a cup of wine as she waited for Sandor to return. As she sipped, the GreatJon approached the High Table and held out his hand.

“Honor me with a dance, Lady Sansa? None of the young ones will risk life and limb now that they know you're betrothed to Clegane, but an old fucker like me is safe enough.”

She laughed and took his hand. As they began to dance he looked at her, and said “You did well, girl. Both with the Thenns and with Manderly tonight. We’re all better off for it, and let it be a lesson to the others to see what they’ll be up against if they ever plan to cross swords with the Wardeness.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I couldn’t have done any of it without your support. When do you plan to return to Last Hearth?”

“Anxious to see the back of me already?” He chuckled. 

She smiled up at him. “The very opposite. I’m going to miss you terribly. Having you and your sons here has been a blessing. And I won’t be the only one sad to see the Umbers leave us. I believe my sister has grown quite fond of Lord Jonah.”

“Oh yes, Jonah is taken with her as well. It’s all I hear from him. That one has already decided he's staying. I might get myself a Stark good daughter yet! Ha!”

“With Arya, I wouldn’t go planning the wedding any time soon.”

“No, not those two. Ha! Their kind wants for adventure. Your sister reminds me so much of your Aunt Lyanna. Well, let them find their adventures together if they like. Couldn’t keep them from it if we tried. May be they’ll come back to us a bit more settled one day, and we’ll see a wedding.”

She laughed. “Arya will be thrilled to know you share her opinions.”

Lord Jaime appeared at their side with a smile and a nod. “Might I cut in, Lord Umber?”

“Aha! The Lord of the hour! You must have balls as hard as that hand to throw in with this lot, Lannister. You’ll need them here. Welcome to the North.”

The GreatJon gave Lord Jaime a slap on the shoulder, and Sansa’s hand a pat before turning her over to him. 

“My Lady, we saw Lord Manderly on his way. Clegane serenaded him to the gate with an amazing list of ways in which he’d kill him himself if he ever dared return. I can guarantee that man will never be seen again North of the Neck.”

“Thank you, Lord Jaime”

“Lord Jaime. Never thought I’d hear that title again. It’s my thanks I give to you, my Lady. You can’t know what your faith means to me. A man rarely gets a second chance to make amends of his life, and I plan to use mine well.”

“It’s my pleasure. I meant what I said when I spoke of change. Have you and Brienne given any thought to what you’ll be naming your new home?”

“I left that to Brienne, and she’s chosen ‘Oathskeep'.”

“After her sword Oathkeeper? I love it.”

“In place of her sword. We’d like to offer it to you along with its twin, Widow’s Wail. Both were made from your fathers sword Ice, and we feel you should have them back in your family.”

“Keep them. Ice made it’s way to you both for a reason. Just promise me you’ll rename Widow’s Wail. I always thought that was a terrible name.”

“Done. Brienne said the same, and had already dubbed it Oathmaker instead, a while back.”

“That's perfect. Let them serve your house and the North well, now and in the future.”

When their dance ended, she returned to the table to find Sandor standing with Tormund, who was pouring all three of them a cup of wine. 

Tormund clanked his cup against hers and then Sandor’s. “To the Red Wolf! These Southern men will soon learn that a woman is always more dangerous to tangle with than a man. They don’t have cocks to make them stupid like us. Ha!”

“And where’s your cock taking you tonight?” Sandor asked him. “I don’t see your little wench hovering about.”

“Ah, a sweet thing she is, but I’m a fancy High Table fucker now, might be I find myself a fancy Southern Lady, like Sigorn. Show her a bit of the wild, eh? Ha!”

“I thought you couldn’t wait to get North of the Wall again, Tormund?” she asked him.

“Might be your South has grown on me a bit. My friends are all here. And let me tell you, it’s nice to finally have my balls thawed out.”

“I wouldn’t mention that part to any Ladies you speak to.” Sansa smirked.

“Didn’t you already try your luck with Lady Brienne? Didn’t go so well.” Sandor added.

“Ah, she just wasn’t the right one, you see. If two rough fuckers like you and Sigorn can make the Ladies love you, a ginger beauty like me should have no trouble. Although it seems that your Red Wolf has cleaned you up a bit, eh Clegane?” He reached out to touch Sandor’s hair and was swatted away. “And you even smell better.” He said taking a sniff at him.

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh at the two of them together. 

“You’re still bloody mad, you know that, right?” Sandor looked at him intently, then nodded. “But I owe you now, Tormund Giantsbane. Sansa told me of how you protected her. I won’t forget it.”

Tormund turned to Sansa. “I’ve always known he liked me, just took him a bit to figure it out, eh? Now, since I can’t make giant babies with the big wench, and can’t make beautiful ginger babies with you because Clegane would feed me my axe, who shall it be girl?" He said, looking around the Hall. "Pity about the Mormont Ladies. I’ve had myself some of them in my day. They’d come North, you see. And they had a bit of the wild in them for sure. The one, well, I almost kept her for my own, but… ah. A pity.”

Something struck Sansa as he spoke, and she looked up at him closely. It was just a fleeting thought at first, but then it took hold in the back of her mind.

Tormund left them then, proclaiming it was time to go sniff out a Lady love, and a horn of proper ale.

She moved close to Sandor and placed a hand on his chest. She had been taken aback when he thanked Tormund for his protection. He was rarely one to voice sentiment. Or at least he had been. So much had changed in this man she loved.

“Dance with me, husband.” She said softly to him.

Something flashed in his eyes at her words. She felt a thrill as his look told her that he wanted to crush his mouth to hers and lift her skirts right here on the High Table instead, but he took her hand and leaned to whisper in her ear.

“Aye, my wife of trees and leaves, let’s dance.”

As they danced he held her closer than the song called for, but she didn’t care. Who would dare complain? And Bran seemed to know they were joined already by the Old Gods. Hopefully he just knew, and hadn’t seen. That was too odd to think on.

Instead her thoughts turned to Tormund. “Sandor, you’ve spent much time with Tormund, haven’t you? Beyond the Wall and back here?”

“Unfortunately.”

“And has he ever told you the story about how he fucked a bear?”

Sandor’s head whipped back to look at her in surprise. “Did the Lady Stark just say ‘fuck’?”

She laughed. “I did. Why? I can say it if I want.”

He ran his hand down lower on her back, almost to her bottom, and pulled her closer still. “Say it again. Ask me again.”

She raised her brow coyly at his smirk. “Fine, but answer me this time. Has Tormund ever told you the story about how he fucked a bear?”

“Aye. He tells that bloody story to anyone that stands still for more than a moment. I’ve heard it more times than I’ve cared to.”

“I have as well. In passing of course. Have you ever thought perhaps the bear in his tale wasn’t really a bear?”

“I’ve never thought on it more than wishing he’d shut the fuck up about it.”

“It’s interesting.”

“If you say so, Little Bird. But I’ll tell you what interesting thing I’m thinking now. I’m thinking our tree wedding needs a proper bedding. Seeing my Lady Wolf with her teeth bared made me want to feel those teeth for myself.”

“Our wedding WAS a bedding.” She laughed, but with his warm hand pressing her close enough to feel his desire, and that look in his eyes, she felt her own desire blossom. 

He leaned down to her ear again. “Let’s go wrinkle up those pretty sheets of yours, girl. See if I can get you to say ‘fuck’ again. May be I’ll even get you to yell it this time. Scare your Evvie into battle again.” 

“I already had the sense to warn her, and asked her to hold off on the beatings.”

He did kiss her then, and the very restraint of it, for the sake of the propriety, made it ridiculously passionate. So much so that her knees went wobbly and her hand went from his shoulder to his neck to hold his lips to hers a moment longer.

“Good Gods, you two look about to fuck right here in the Hall.” Arya said in disgust, appearing at Sandors elbow.

At the word, both she and Sandor began to laugh, and Arya rolled her eyes. 

“Oh get a bloody grip. Gendry’s back, and he brought Milly. And a package for Sansa. They’re married. They got married in town, without us. Idiot. I punched him, but Jonah didn’t let me hurt him, and it’s alright now. Milly’s been calmed down. We need to find them proper rooms in the Keep. Won’t do to have them behind the forge.”

Sansa head swum from the onslaught of information. 

Sandor put it more succinctly. 

“What in the fucking hells are you yammering about, girl?”

Arya looked at them like they were two children. “Just follow me.”


	48. No One

Chapter 48 – No One

*Sandor*

The Little Wolf led them to the forge, where Lord Blacksmith was showing his new bride around. The little seamstress looked both elated and overwhelmed, and dressed as fine as any highborn Lady he had even seen in the Capitol. Lord Blacksmith looked like a mummer at first in his new fine clothes, but a happy one.

Sansa greeted them both with hugs and congratulations, and the two women began their chirping. 

Arya, Jonah, and Gendry came to join him. Gendry wearing a blooming bruise on his jaw.

“So you did it, aye boy?” 

“I did.”

“Without us, you idiot. You didn’t think your friends would want to be there with you? You’re lucky Jonah pulled me off you. You deserved a few more lumps.” Arya told him.

Gendry rubbed his jaw. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It all happened so fast. You know I would have had you there otherwise. You’re my very best friend, Arya. You scared Milly though. She thought you were a jealous lover come to kill me.”

“It was fairly spectacular,” Jonah said, turning to Sandor. “that must have been what the Night King saw right before the dagger to the heart. A crazed, flying little Stark.” 

“I was not crazed. I apologized afterwards. And I explained to Milly. We may have been lovers, but we were never in love. He's my best friend. That's not why I was angry."

Sandor gave her a look. 

“It’s not a secret. Jonah knows. I don’t keep anything from him.” She said.

“No, but you didn’t think Gendry may not have wanted that news delivered to his new bride, by his old lover, right after you pummeled her new husband?” Jonah asked her.

The Little Wolf just shrugged, and all he could do was laugh. Little shit. 

“You missed a proper battle too. While you were in town, the castle was attacked by about fifty of Queen Cersei’s men.” Jonah told Gendry. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for that. I felt terrible. We didn’t hear about it until today. But it was said you took no losses but for one guard. We were relieved to hear it.”

“Aye, we made short enough work of them.” Sandor told him. “Blooded the new sword. It swung true and sharp. You did well with it.”

He could tell Gendry was pleased to hear it. He should be. It was a damn fine sword.

When he looked back over towards the forge, Sansa and the seamstress were hugging again, and crying happily over whatever was in the large package now between them. Women.

“Tell your sister I’ll find Trey and have him see to rooms for our new Baratheons, and then be in the Hall having a drink. Might want to bring them in for one as well after that greeting of yours, Little Wolf.”

He figured if he couldn’t be upstairs in a featherbed with his Little Bird, he may as well be drinking. 

Trey was in his room next to Sandor’s. 

“We have new guests. Our Lord Blacksmith has taken himself a bride. Milly the seamstress from Winter Town. They’ll need rooms prepared. Not sure for how long. How many empty on this floor?”

“Two M’Lord. I’ll prepare the finer of them now. Shall I have Evvie see to them, or would you like me to attend them?”

The question gave him pause, but for a completely different reason.

“Have Evvie see to them. Lady Baratheon will need her for her dresses and such. Lord Baratheon has had enough practice pulling his own breeches up and down to see to himself. Come down to the Hall when the rooms are ready, but bring a page along.”

“Yes m’Lord.”

Back in the Hall he found them all seated at a table along with both Lannisters, Poderick, Brienne, Sigorn, and Tormund, who was without conquest, but once again had his little serving wench circling. 

The table was so crowded he picked up his Little Bird, and sat with her in his lap. The only eyes that went wide at it were Milly's. 

They all drank, and talked, and laughed. Sansa’s arm around his shoulders, her smiles wide and her laughter true. The Little Wolf leaning into Jonah, making friends with Milly, and ribbing Gendry in her merciless way. The Lannister brothers as witty and sharp-tongued as ever. Brienne mooning at Jaime, and Poderick smiling and blushing at nothing in particular. Tormund drunk and loud, and Sigorn drunk and quiet, but with a smile.

Sandor was enjoying himself as well, but his nature of wariness ran deep. All going too well set his teeth on edge. The Gods only gave so much before they began taking again. 

The Little Bird felt his tension and touched his face, held his eyes. Hers said she understood. She looked away from him, around the table at everyone seated, and then back to him. And he understood. 

Every one of them here had suffered through pain and loss. There were no songs here, just survivors. There would always be the next fight, and they would once again rise to it, so they may as well enjoy the good moments in between. 

He ran his fist down her braid and gave the end a little tug. Thank you, Little Bird, I'll try, it said. She smiled. 

Sigorn excused himself after a bit to see to his wife, and Jaime and Brienne went next, probably off to do things Sandor didn’t want to think about that particular pair doing. 

Trey finally arrived at the table with a page next to him to tell them Lord and Lady Baratheon’s chambers were ready. 

Milly giggled at the new sound of her new name, and took Gendry’s arm. The Little Wolf didn't even roll her eyes. He was impressed. 

“Have the page see them up. What’s your name, boy?” he asked the little page.

“Lucas, m’Lord”

“Alright, Lucas, show the Lord and Lady to their rooms. Trey, you sit. Have a drink.” 

The boy was surprised at the request, but took a seat across from him, next to Jonah. The Little Bird slid off his lap and into the now empty space next to him in a more proper arrangement, but he missed her weight and warmth instantly. 

They all wished Gendry and Milly their good night’s, and he poured a cup of wine for Trey. 

Both Sansa and Arya were eyeing Sandor curiously, but said nothing. 

“How old are you Trey?"

“Fifteen m'Lord.”

“Fifteen. Older than I thought. You’re small for fifteen. That’s alright. There’s worse things to be than small. Do you read and write? Do sums?"

"Yes m'Lord."

"In a few days I’ll be making Evvie's days harder instead of yours".

“After your wedding.”

“Aye. The guests will begin leaving eventually too. Won't be as much for you to do. But the Lady Stark will still have need of some help running things about the castle. You’re a bit young yet to be a steward, but you’re a quick learner, aren’t you? Perhaps we can convince Lady Stark to let you assist. Get a feel for things. Might be you’ll become a great help to her.”

The Little Bird looked at him and quirked her brow. He nodded towards the boy, then nodded at her. 

Trey was smiling down into his cup, trying not to smile down into his cup.

“Well Trey, it seems Lord Clegane holds you in very high regard. Is this something you’d be interested in? Learning about how Winterfell runs, and assisting me? You’d be working closely with Maester Paul as well. It’s a great responsibility to help run a castle.”

“I’d be honored m'Lady. I love Winterfell. It’s always been my home.”

“Forgive my memory, what do your parents do here, Trey?”

“My father was a Stark Guard. He died back in Kings Landing defending your father, Lord Eddard. My mother says he was so proud to be chosen to go to the Capitol with you.” He looked from Sansa to Arya. “Mother said he died as he would have wanted to, fighting for his Lord. She works in the laundry, and does sewing for the Guards and other servants. Makes and mends their uniforms and such.”

Fucking hells. He hadn't known.

Sandor's chest tightened. He was there that day. He was one of the Lannister men cutting down the Stark Guards. Might have even been the one to kill this boy’s father. There was no way to know.

Soldiers don’t feel guilt for killing the enemy in battle. Yet that day, he remembered feeling something akin to it. A gnawing in his gut. 

The feeling had begun as a curiosity the day he first set eyes on the Starks, right here in Winterfell, and it ended as a broken man walking out of the Little Bird's rooms, and out of Kings Landing, the night the Blackwater burned.

‘It all started here, didn’t it.’ Jaime had said. It was the same thought he had had the day he returned to Winterfell and saw Lady Sansa Stark up on the battlements. 

‘Those of you here in this room will be a part of this family’s future. And the future of the North.’ He heard Brandon Stark’s words.

‘It’s never too late to start doing the right thing’. Elder Brother. 

Sandor saw the Little Bird smile sadly, and she reached out to put her hand over the boy’s on the table. 

“Our Guard fought so bravely that day. Every one of them. Against impossible odds. Lady Arya and I will never forget their service to us. To House Stark.” She said.

He glanced at the Little Wolf, and her jaw was set as she stared into her cup.

He needed to get out of this Hall. Rising, he turned and left without a word. 

*Sandor*

He normally would have found wine, gotten drunk, and gone to bother Stranger. 

But tonight, the tightness in his chest made him want to move instead. 

So the Westerner that had come North went West again. Out the gate and walking towards an empty field of burnt grass and bones.

Except the West field wasn’t empty. 

Jon Snow must have returned while he was in the Hall with the others. They probably passed each other somewhere along the way. A big brooding man and a small one, both too deep in their own thoughts to notice.

He slowed his steps, but kept walking towards the dragon. 

The beast seemed to be making himself comfortable, tired from his journey. A curious eye turned his way, but nothing more. 

His Maester once told him dragons were much smarter than men. So did that make them a God? What would happen if he stood before a God to face judgment?

Sandor kept walking. 

“It would certainly be a poetic end, but don’t expect me to write the song.”

He stopped. And so did his little shadow.

“I once asked the Elder Brother, ‘If the Gods exist, why haven’t they punished me?’. He said they had. The man wasn’t wrong often, but I think he was that time.”

“So you thought to let a dragon have a go at you?”

He said nothing. 

“Is Elder Brother the one who found you?”

“Aye. As far as I knew, I had been dead for days after you left me.”

“And that wasn’t punishment enough? I certainly thought it was.”

“I thought you said you were ‘letting me live’.”

“I wasn’t.”

He laughed.

“And like I said before, here you still are.” 

She came to stand next to him, and they both watched the dragon. A gleaming green mountain, falling asleep curled up like a barn cat.

“Here I still am.”

“And now Sansa gets to punish you for the rest of your life.”

“Doesn’t exactly feel like punishment to me.”

“But it is. I saw you when she climbed on that dragon and flew off. How did that feel?”

He said nothing. It was a while before she spoke again. 

“In Braavos, Jaquen wanted us to become ‘no one’. Said it was the only way we could become killers. Faceless Men.”

“We? There were more little girl assassins running about Braavos?”

“Only one, but I killed her. Now shut up and listen.”

“Seven hells.”

“Jaquen said we had to be no one, with no name, no family, no one to love. It was the only way to do our work. To kill indiscriminately. To be truly dangerous. And I was able to become no one, for a time. It felt good. No pain, no sadness, no guilt. But I couldn’t stay no one. No matter how hard I tried. I had a family still. And I couldn’t stop loving them. When I became Arya Stark again, the pain came back. But so did I.”

She looked up, squinted her grey young-old eyes at him. Sorting her thoughts. 

“You became no one for a very long time, didn’t you? Except you called him the Hound. That’s how you did your job. Being the Hound felt good. No pain, no sadness, no guilt. You had no reason to want to become Sandor Clegane again. But then you met my sister. And she messed it all up for you.”

He chuckled. “She did.”

“Now we both have to feel again. And it’s hard for people like us. But our pack is worth it. Love is worth it. And Jaquen was wrong, not your Elder Brother. Being someone doesn’t make us less dangerous. It makes us more dangerous. I know what lengths I’ll go to to protect the people I love. So do you. And its pretty fucking terrifying, isn’t it?

“More than that dragon.”

“So there’s your punishment, Sandor Clegane.”


	49. Another Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of setting the stage for later twists and turns... and I'm on a ton of cold medicine, so bear with any typos... I'll go back and do some editing once I'm seeing straight again ;)

Chapter 49 – Another Way

*Sansa*

When the Hall doors opened, she was expecting it to be Arya, returning with Sandor. She should say hoping, rather than expecting, she knew firsthand how difficult he was to reach when he got this way, but he and Arya shared something that connected them when their feelings were dark. They understood that part of one another. She was grateful they had one another. 

It was Jon who entered the Hall, looking thoroughly exhausted, and wearing a grim expression. 

Tormund called out to him, “Snow! You look like shit. Come! Sit! I've never seen a man more in need of a drink!”

She was surprised when he actually did sit, and took the cup of wine Tormund handed him. 

Of the those still at the table, Tyrion was by far the most drunk, followed by Tormund. Poderick was more interested in the same shy serving girl that he was speaking to the other night than the wine, and they were having their own quiet conversation off at the far end of the table. 

She had arranged with Trey for him to begin working with her a few hours each day, then once the castle had bid farewell to their visiting Lords and Ladies, more regularly. He was a sweet boy, and definitely bright. Sandor seemed to have very good instincts for finding the right person for a position. The more she thought on it, it would serve well to have Trey to grow into the position of steward, learning at her side.

Jon drained his cup of wine but waived off Tormund when he tried to refill it. 

“Jon Snow. Why not have another? You may as well be as drunk as we are when you give us the news you bring.” Said Tyrion. 

“I would be if I could. Looks like you’ve had quite the head start.” He replied to Tyrion, then turned to Sansa. “We need to meet, in the solar, now unfortunately.”

“Did you happen to see Arya or Sandor when you came in?”

“Arya. She was headed out the gate. Said she’ll meet us in the solar. Didn’t say where she was going. You’re not drunk too, are you?”

“No, although I think we both could use it.” She laughed wryly. 

“When this is all over, I promise, you and I will get properly drunk together, and not invite them.” He nodded towards Tormund and Tyrion, who were now attempting to see who could burp the loudest, while Tormund’s serving girl played the judge.

Jon asked Tyrion and Jonah to join them upstairs, and they left Tormund and Poderick to their girls.

Bran had already been brought to the solar, but was not 'here' when they arrived.

“Is he alright?” Jonah asked worriedly. He had apparently never seen Bran ‘away’. 

Sansa took his arm and leaned close. “He gets like that when he has his… visions. He’s fine. His attention will return whenever he’s done.”

“So it’s like when Arya is with Nymeria.”

“With Nymeria? I don’t understand?”

Jon looked up at Jonah, then glanced at Tyrion, who was busy over at the table clumsily trying to pouring out six cups of wine on a tray, and paying the rest of them no mind. When he turned back to Jonah his look was curious.

“When she goes into her Direwolf. The wharging?” Jonah replied. Sansa just looked at him, still confused. Jon looked away. “You didn’t know about it? I’m sorry, I just assumed…”

At that moment Arya and Sandor entered the Solar. 

“So, what did the Queen say? When do we leave? I have everything ready.” Her sister said to Jon.

Sandor came to Sansa’s side, and she took his arm and met his eyes, the dark storm having left them for now. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

Jon sighed deeply, and looked at Arya a moment before he answered her. “Dany has heard of your Faceless Men, and their skills. Being the one to kill the Night King helped your cause as well. She thinks it's a good plan, and preferable to subjecting the people of Kings Landing to a battle. They’ll have enough to get used to with the dragons.”

“Good. When do we leave?” Arya asked him.

“Arya, I still don’t like this. How can we expect to control Cersei’s guards? And the Lannister guards? They’re not just going to lay down their swords once Cersei is dead and follow along. And we can’t bring two dragons into the Red Keep to defend us, we need the Unsullied and Dothraki for that.”

“Osmund Kettleblack will get me in and close to Cersei, and once Cersie is dead I will have her face. I will control her guards. I will hold the Red Keep until the Queen and her army arrive.”

“Then why not just wait to do this. March with us, arrive with us, take out Cersei with the full protection of Dany's army behind you?”

“She’d never get close.” Tyrion spoke, abandoning his tray of wine, and coming over to them, sounding suddenly sober. 

“My sister was already isolated and suspicious, knowing the Queen’s armies were on her doorstep would close her off to us for good. We’d have to tear the Red Keep down around her to get to her. Then we’re right back to fire and blood and a foreign invasion in the eyes of the people our Queen hopes to rule. If your sister can take Cersei before that happens, hold the Keep and her men, then the people will see a surrender instead of a slaughter. It’s the wisest way to proceed.”

“And if she can’t? If someone close to Cersei suspects something is amiss?” Jon asked.

“It’s a chance we take. A chance Lady Arya takes, knowing the risk. We still have two dragons and an army if this fails.”

“If this fails it means my sister’s life!”

“If it succeeds it means MY sister’s life. And possibly the life of her child.”

Jon and Arya both looked shocked. “What child?” Arya demanded. 

“Cersie told Jaime she was pregnant with their child before he left Kings Landing. If it’s true, and it’s a big if, Jaime and I would both like it very much if the life of that child could somehow be spared.” Tyrion told them.

“You expect the Queen to spare both Cersei’s life, and the life of her heir? That would be madness. Why would the Queen ever agree to it? It poses nothing but risks to her throne. And why should I even care? You think the world needs another Joffrey?” Arya spat angrily. 

“Or it could be another sweet child like Tommen or Myrcella. I know our Queen would be right to want both Cersei and the child dead. I’m just hoping that if it’s true, there might be a way to spare the baby. Take Cersei prisoner instead.”

“This entire plan falls apart without Cersei’s face. How would Kettleblack take Cersie prisoner without getting himself killed? You’re back to tearing the Keep down around her, and that won’t save the baby either, will it? And what if our Queen doesn’t agree to this plan of mercy? You’re prepared to commit treason?" Arya threw at him.

“No.” Tyrion sighed deeply. 

If Jon looked tormented before, it was nothing compared to now. He sat heavily, and put his thumbs to his eyes in frustration. 

Bran chose that moment to return to them. “I cannot see a baby. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Either way, Arya must be in King’s Landing. That is what I know. That is what I have seen.”

“Bran,” Jon said wearily, “How are we to know for sure then?”

“I’ve seem my sister go through four pregnancies. I would know if I saw her.” Tyrion said. 

“You can’t be there to see her. You and I need to get Arya to the Capitol, but can go no further. We must wait for the armies well away. I cant hide Rhaegal in the city. If Cersei saw us, the plan would be useless.” Jon reminded him.

Bran looked over at she and Sandor. He said nothing, but continued to stare at them. She was about to ask him what was wrong, when suddenly beside her, Sandor spoke.

*Sandor*

“There’s another way.” He said to the room. They all turned to face him, as if they had forgotten he and Sansa were there.

“I was Cersei’s Sworn Shield through those same four pregnancies. Wasn’t passed on to the Prince until he was of an age. One look at her and I’ll know. Kettleblack bringing her back her Hound to punish won't be ignored. She'll see me. If there is a babe, the Little Wolf as Kettleblack can keep me alive and get me out once Jon and the Queen arrive. We’ll take Cersei then. If there’s no babe, then we kill her. Arya takes her face, and I help to keep her safe while she holds the Red Keep as Cersei surrenders.”

Everyone had quickly learned that Joffrey was a monster, but he remembered Tommen and Myrcella well too. They were both good, kind children. And regardless of the Little Wolf’s skills, he didn’t want her in the Red Keep alone, even as Kettleblack or Cersei. Even if he had to sit in a dungeon for a few days. 

“It will be up to you, Lannister, to see to the rest if we have to keep Cersei alive. The girl and I won’t be losing our heads for crossing the dragon Queen. I’ll take yours before I let that happen.”

“You’d get on a dragon again for me?” Arya asked him.

“Aye. I don’t like the idea one bit, but I like the idea of you in the Red Keep alone even less. And both you and the Raven over there are determined to see that you get there. I know Cersei. I know the Red Keep. I need to be there with you."

Sansa was looking up at him with both relief and worry. 

Jon met his eyes, and he could see the boy turning over what he had just heard. “Alright. It’s a good idea. And I’d feel better if Arya weren’t alone. Thank you, Clegane."

“I will take full responsibility with the Queen. You have my word. I will make it known you are acting under my orders as her Hand, whatever happens.” Tyrion assured them. “She’s not likely to forget Robert sent assassins to kill both her and her unborn child, but I have hope that she will extend the mercy he didn’t, once she sits the throne.”

"Just remember, if she's not pregnant, I'm going to kill her." Arya told Tyrion.

"I know. I understand. I wouldn't be here if I hadn't made my peace with that. Jaime as well. We know what she has become."

Jon rose and addressed Tyrion, “Then we’ll need to meet with Grey Worm and the Dothraki at first light, and march them soon afterwards. I’ll want them moving quickly. They’ll have to separate, with the Dothraki mounted and the Unsullied on foot, but at least half of them will be there within a few days of us, if they ride hard. The Queen and Drogon will arrive when we do to wait for word. It should be enough.”

Enough to clean up the mess if everything goes wrong, is what he didn’t say. 

Jonah suddenly spoke up. “Let me come as well? I can’t help Lady Arya or Lord Clegane, but I’d like to be there. I’m a part of this, or I wouldn’t be here. You said so yourself Lord Bra… Raven Brandon.”

Bran looked again to Sansa and Sandor. “It’s up to your Wardeness and Liege Lord.”

Sansa looked up at him. She was leaving it to him to decide.

“No. You are a part of this, but I need you here with the GreatJon and your brothers. You’re one of the best fighters I’ve seen for your age. Along with Jaime, Brienne, and Tormund, you will hold Winterfell. I want the gates closed and the Guard on alert.” He looked to Jon and Arya. “I want the wolves here too.”

The Little Wolf nodded. 

“With the armies gone, Winterfell’s defense will be up to the Northerners inside of it. If Cersei’s men came once, they can come again. Until the dragon Queen sits the throne, we’re still at war. I’ll have nothing happening to Lady Sansa or her brother.”

Lord Jonah nodded in acceptance. Good lad.

“Then I guess it’s decided.” Jon said. “The army marches tomorrow morning. Arya, Clegane, Tyrion, and I will fly four mornings from then, as Bran said earlier. Now, it’s late, I can barely stand, and we all need some sleep.”

But the Raven boy wasn’t done yet.

“The North shall have a wedding before the new Queen is given her throne. The Old Gods will witness three in good time. The Raven has three eyes, and sees that the dragon needs three heads, but it’s the North that will make it so. The circle must be completed for this age to roll into the next.”

Bloody hells. At least that’s when Tyrion decided to serve the wine.


	50. Seven Hells and Seven Heavens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun one to ease the tension before the drama ramps up again ;)

Chapter 50 – Seven Hells and Seven Heavens

*Sansa*

When they all finally left the solar, she was so tired from the events of the day and that last cup of wine, she was swaying on her feet.

“Off to bed with you, Little Bird. You look about to drop.” Sandor said to her at her chamber door. 

“Come in with me?”

“You’re not like to get any sleep that way. I’ll come to you in the morning. Rest tonight. Tomorrow will be a busy day for everyone.”

She had to agree, as much as she was loathe to part with him for the night. She couldn’t very well see to all her duties if she was falling asleep into her breakfast. 

He kissed her good night, and promised to be at her door in the morning to join her for breakfast in the family solar. 

Doing no more than removing her boots, stockings, and gown, she fell into her bed and was asleep within moments. But she was plagued that night with restless dreams.

She was running through the corridors of the Red Keep, calling out for her sister, for Sandor, for Jon, but no one came. The Keep was deserted, except for one set of heavy, armored footsteps, that she could hear following her. When she would turn to see who the knight was that pursued her, there was never anyone there. But the footsteps continued nonetheless, echoing after her down every corridor.

She awoke with a gasp when she sensed a figure looming over her in the dark bed chamber. 

“Shhhhh, Little Bird. Just me. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Sandor.” She reached out to him. “Is everything alright? I was having a nightmare.”

“Everything’s fine. Didn’t realize the rooms Trey gave the new Lord and Lady Baratheon were the ones next to mine. Turns out our little Milly is a screamer. Couldn’t sleep with her carrying on.”

Sansa rubbed her eyes and made to move over for him. 

“No, stay in your warm nest. I’ll come around and warm the other side of the bed.” He removed his tunic and breeches, and tossed them over the chair.

Once he settled in and had wrapped himself around her, they were both asleep quickly. This time she had no more dreams.

The first light of dawn had just begun to seep in around the shutters when she woke. She was alone in the bed, but she saw that Sandor’s tunic and breeches were still on the chair where he had tossed them in the night. 

She smiled, recalling the day she found him in his own solar in just his small clothes. To think, now it was hers. 

She put on her slippers and robe, and went into the solar. He was sitting in a chair she didn’t recognize, having a cup of wine and a piece of fruit.

He heard her come in. “Evvie left a little plate for you to peck at until breakfast, and that damned sweet wine.”

She smiled. “But I see you’re drinking it anyway. And pecking. Hopefully she came before you went wandering about without your clothes again?”

“Aye. Her creeping in and out is what woke me.”

Coming over to where he sat, she ran a hand over the large, upholstered chair, and noticed its twin at the other side of the table. “These are perfect, and so large. Much more comfortable. I was so tired I must have walked right past them last night.”

“Aye. Your girl must have figured I’d just keep breaking the pretty ones with the little legs. These remind me of the chairs in the library.”

“I think they actually are chairs from the library!” She laughed, as she studied them again. 

“So your girl’s a clever one as well.”

Sansa poured herself a cup of wine, and went to sit on Sandor’s lap in the new chair. He gathered her in, wrapped an arm around her waist, and tucked her head under his chin.

“So did I understand correctly that Milly is quite enjoying her nights with her new husband?” She asked him.

“Apparently. Sounded like a barn cat in heat. Boy would do well to stuff some of her fabric in his ears before he takes her to bed again.”

“Don’t mention it to Arya, she’s like to tease them about it right at the breakfast table this morning.”

“The Little Wolf had her own visitor last night. I passed our Lord Jonah in your corridor. I was coming to your rooms, he was leaving hers.”

“Well then! What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. What’s to say? I nodded, he nodded, and that was all. Not my business. They’re both grown.”

“I know. It’s just easy to forget sometimes. Thank you, Sandor, for going with her. To Kings Landing. I’m frightened for both of you now, but I’m so glad you’ll be there to look after her.”

“I’m used to looking after her. Just can’t believe I’ll be going back to that Gods damned city, and that Gods damned castle to do it. Hoped I’d seen the last of it.”

“I dreamt of it last night. The Red Keep. That was my nightmare. I was back again, running through the corridors, with armored footsteps coming after me, but no one there.”

He looked at her sadly. “I’ll never be able to make it up to you, Little Bird. Those years. That place. All of it. I wish I could take away all the shit memories for you. Chuck mine as well.”

“They aren’t all bad memories, Sandor.” She layed a hand on his cheek. “And without a then, there wouldn’t be a now. I’ll tell you a good memory I have. How about that? Then you tell me one. We’ll replace the bad with the good.”

“Alright, girl. Let’s hear it.” He said, finishing his wine.

“Joffrey’s name day tournament. The ‘gnat’ knights as you called them, fighting in that awful heat. When I arrived, you turned towards me and met my eyes, and said ‘Lady Sansa'. I knew you didn’t mean to. You weren’t announcing me, Ser Arys escorted me, he was to announce me. But you said my name instead. It was a greeting. You yourself were surprised. I believe I even remember you blushed a bit.”

As she spoke she had set down her wine, and was reaching around his head to take the grey ribbon from his hair. He had left it in all night, and the knot was now a tangle.

“It was the heat. I don’t blush.”

“I beg to differ. Tell me what you remember of that day.” The ribbon was now in her lap, and she was combing through his hair with her fingers. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling. 

“I remember being bored almost mad. Shit tournament was a waste of time, and too fucking hot, like you said. And then there came the Little Bird, in a dress the same color as your eyes. And aye, I said your name. It was also the day you stopped wearing your hair in that ridiculous style of the Capitol. It was down, and I wanted to touch it.” 

He touched her hair now, pulling it all over her shoulder and running it through his fist.

“I stood there imagining what it would feel like in my hands. That was until you decided to tell the King he couldn’t drown Ser Dontos in wine. And then you told Joffrey that ridiculous lie.”

“And you told it too. So well that I sat there wondering if it was ever a lie at all.” She laughed. 

“You were a shit liar.”

“I got better at it.” 

He was smirking at her now, and running a finger under the neckline of the shift under her robe.

“I did!”

“You did, and I was glad for it. But you still could never fool me.”

She took the empty wine cup from his other hand and leaned over to set it next to hers. 

“Remember the night you caught me on the Serpentine? That’s one of my favorite memories.” She ran a hand down his arm.

“Favorite? You almost killed us both. And I believe I told you exactly how bad of a liar you were that night.”

“You did. Several times. But when you caught me that night, you looked at me, all of me.” She now ran her fingertips down through the hair on his bare chest, and up the finer hairs on his stomach. 

“You let me go, but stepped closer. And as you barked and growled, I recall smelling you, your scent. It was wine, and leather and steel, and your soap. And I liked it.”

Leaning to kiss his shoulder, then his neck, she breathed in. “It smelled like… you. And I never forgot it.”

She felt him stir beneath her. So she went on.

“And then you escorted me back to my chambers, and I lied much better on the drawbridge, didn’t I? To Ser Boros.”

Sansa rose from his lap, untied her robe, letting it slip to the floor, and turned, lifting her shift to straddle him on the chair. His hands went to her bare thighs, her bottom. She kissed him, then continued sharing her memory as a whisper against his lips.

“You told me the story of your house, quite eloquently. I liked listening to your voice as you spoke. Then at my door you demanded your song, and I said I’d gladly give it to you. Little did I know what you really meant.” His hands gripped her hips tightly as she felt him grow harder still, through his small clothes, and against hers. 

He slipped his hands up under her shift and held her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples in a way that made her breath come faster as she continued.

“I was going to sing you Florian and Jonquil. You got angry, said you didn’t want that song, but you didn’t understand Sandor, it was my favorite love song.” She shifted her hips to feel him beneath her better, and looked into his eyes, now dark with need.

“You barked at me again, leaned in so very close, and called me a liar. Did you know that I wasn’t even listening to you? Instead I was wondering if you were going to kiss me. And wondering if I might like it if you did.”

Sansa smoothed his hair back and kissed his neck, tasting his skin, feeling his low growl under her lips. His hands went to the ribbon of her small clothes, and he pulled it free. She rose enough that he could pull them down and off her legs, then she tugged his down as well.

With her arms around his neck, she lowered herself onto him so slowly, savoring the sensation of taking him into herself, wanting it to last forever. He groaned as she drew out her pleasure, but let her have her way with him.

“Tell me,” she breathed, once she had him deep within her. “Tell me. Did you ever think to kiss me. That night?”

He gathered her hair behind her, winding it around his fist, and tugging it gently back to expose her neck. He kissed her there, and spoke against her skin, between breaths, as she began to rock her hips and he pressed himself up inside her.

“I thought of kissing you all nights. But that night… so flushed and breathless from running down the steps… ahh… and you looked too much a woman grown… I had to look away…”

“Tell me.” She rose up along him slowly, then down onto him again just as slowly, watching as he threw his head back at the pleasure of her teasing.

“A man can hardly think when you’re doing that, Little Bird… Seven Gods…”

“Tell me.”

He tugged her hair a bit harder, and lifted his head to gently bite the pulse at her throat. “I was drunk enough to try to say the words… how you looked… how I felt… but not so drunk that I couldn’t stop myself… so I did… I would have stood on those fucking steps all night to just… Gods…”

“And at my door?” She said, now gasping herself, and taking him deep inside her again. 

“At your door… If I would have let myself… kiss you… I couldn't... it would have finished me, girl.”

She brought her hands to his chest and her lips to his ear, and whispered softly as she rocked her hips around him, “It wasn’t the right time. You were right. But it brought us here. That place brought us here. And it will never be the end of us, Sandor.”

As she took him faster, took him deeper, his fingertips gripped her like a vice. When he pushed his hips up off the chair and held her atop him as she rocked, their pleasure came on them like a clap of thunder. She arched her back as the waves of hers held the throb of his. 

“OH GODS… “ she moaned softly.

“Nothing…” he gasped, as he lowered them back to the chair and held her to his chest, “Nothing will ever be the end of us Little Bird. Because I will crawl up through all Seven Hells and climb through all Seven Heavens if I have to, to get to you, to be with you, now that you're mine. Always.”


	51. Breakfast Guest

Chapter 51 – Breakfast Guest

*Sandor*

It was Sandor who had the trouble walking after he left her rooms that morning to go dress in his own. It wasn’t his body that betrayed him, it was his head. 

Sometimes Sansa Stark completely overwhelmed him. She was too beautiful, to kind, too smart, and she loved a man like him too much.

Her love was so complete, it tied him in knots at times like this. Sansa's face above him, in the chair, her body sinking down onto him so slowly he could have wept at how good it felt; it would stay with him all day, and drive him to distraction. 

He was already hearing her voice again, whispering of memories they shared, memories of the times he was sure he had fucked everything right up, and telling him that perhaps he had not. The sweet Little Bird, despite an entire city trying to break her, really HAD still believed in songs and kisses. And believed he had been worthy of them, even then. 

Most of the time he could push his own doubts and fears aside, the Elder Brother’s words reminding him to take life one moment at a time, and have the courage to be happy, the courage to move forward without always looking back.

Then other times, like last night, hearing of Trey’s father, or Sansa still having nightmares of the Red Keep, and the Little Wolf with names still on her list, brought it all back to him. 

The guilt. What he did, what he didn’t, and why. It was only Elder brother that knew all of it.

He had told him of why he left Kings Landing, why he wanted to take the Little Bird with him. It was as much to ease his own suffering as hers, and how he had fucked it all up. How he had only won the trial by combat against Beric Dondarrion because the knight held her sister, and how the moment he saw Arya Stark, he planned to take her. Bring her home. Be the hero. Redeem himself to Sansa, fight for her brother, and how he had fucked that all up as well. He also told the dark ceiling at night of why he stayed with the Brotherhood; because he had nothing else left. Nothing, until he saw Jon Snow. Another Stark, even if he was called Snow. He knew the Little Bird lived, then he learned the Little Wolf did as well. So he marched his already frozen arse even further North, his only hope once again redemption. A connection to her. It had been enough to keep him alive. 

Now he was here. Redeemed. With all he never dared to dream of in his hands. And he was terrified of it. Terrified of losing any of it. Arya was right. It was punishment.

Once he had dressed and returned to Sansa's rooms to retrieve her, most of these thoughts he had been able to set aside. There was much to do today, and he was glad for it. When his body was busy, his mind knew enough to shut the hells up and leave him be.

When she bid him enter and he saw her in a soft black dress, the bodice cut low, with her silver circle necklace at her throat and the chain running between her breasts… breasts that he could see entirely too much of not to begin picturing them in their entirety, his cock told him perhaps his duties could wait another few hours.

“I like your dress, Lady Stark. Shows a bit more skin than your black armor." He came up to her and ran his fingers along the chain between her breasts.

She laughed. “My black armor. Is that what you called my winter gowns? I guess they were a sort of armor. It's warmed up so nicely, I'd melt away in them now".

"So what is on the Lady's agenda for today?"

"I need to gather a party to go find Harrold Manderly, and advise him of his new position."

"Send the Lords that stood last night with that fat fuck. Let them prove their loyalty to House Stark in deed rather than words."

"That's an excellent idea."

"I'll see to them. Need to meet with the Guard first, then I'll talk to the Lords."

"Thank you, that will be a tremendous help. I also need to make the plans for our wedding and the feast afterwards."

He leaned down to kiss her throat, then the tops of her breasts peeking out of her bodice. “I thought we already did that. Beneath the tree. That was wedding enough for me, girl. The perfect wedding. Just tell the others it's done.” He kept kissing, and his hands found her bottom beneath her skirts, his cock urging him on, reminding him of how much they enjoyed this morning. 

But it was not to be, as she gently pushed him back and looked up at him. She already had that determined Stark look upon her face.

“It was the most perfect wedding, wasn’t it? But we will still need to have a wedding that can be witnessed by our friends, family, and our Lords and Ladies. I want no question of the verity our union if you’re to be the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Alright Little Bird. Just tell me when and where to show up. You know I’ll marry you as many times as you like. I'll just need someone to make me bigger breeches if you're going to keep wearing dresses like that now that its warmer."

She smiled wryly at him. “That reminds me we'll need to find a new seamstress too, but I have some thoughts on where. But for now, we'd better get to the solar for breakfast and start the day."

He took one last long look at the tops of her breasts, because he couldn’t very well stare at them through breakfast, and was struck by a thought. “You’re necklace, where did you get it?”

“Tyrion gave it to me. After we were married about a fortnight. He said it was a symbol of good luck. I just liked how simple it was. It was on a short chain at first, then I had the longer chain added when I got back to Winterfell, so I could wear it over my 'armor' as you call it. When Bran saw it, he asked where I got it as well. He said it was indeed good luck, and I should keep it always. So I did.”

Sandor slid his fingers underneath the silver circle, and lifted it from her skin. He looked closely at it, noticing the spots where the silver had worn away from rubbing against her clothing and the chain.

“Do you mind? That it’s from Tyrion?”

“No, wear whatever you like, Little Bird.” He laid it back against her skin, and kissed her. “Let’s get to breakfast. The sooner you see to your day, the sooner I’ll help see you out of that dress tonight."

*Sansa*

The solar was full and bustling when she and Sandor arrived, and the serving girls were just setting out a second course of breakfast. 

Jon and Tyrion had already been out beyond the walls to meet with the army leaders and give the order to decamp, and would then head back out again once all were ready to march. 

Tyrion was focused on his wine and a rasher of bacon, while Jon sat with Val, who had little Mason on her knee. They were speaking to each other softly, their heads together, and the little smiles they exchanged told Sansa everything. The 'something' between them seemed to be growing into much more than just something. 

Arya sat beside Jonah, who had his plate piled with a helping of everything, apparently to buffer against the bacon and sausages Arya kept pinching from his plate.

Gendry and Milly looked happy but tired, and Sansa smiled to herself, remembering Sandor’s description of the new bride’s screams of pleasure in the night. 

She fought to keep the color from her cheeks, as it made her think of the sweet ache between her own legs, and her morning with Sandor, who was currently attacking his own heaping plate of food like a man starved. 

She had knotted his hair again before they left her chambers, and she smiled now at his profile, loving the Northern style on his strong face. The grey ribbon had fluttered to the ground during their early morning love making, but she found it later when she retrieved her small clothes.

She looked to Bran, who was just watching everyone serenely. What did he think of all these couples? All this love taking hold after so much death? Did he ever get lonely? Does a Three-eyed Raven get to take a wife? A lover? 

He suddenly looked at her. “No, that's never been meant for me, but all is as it should be. I am content."

Sansa started. “Brandon Stark! Did you just read my mind?” 

Everyone turned to look at them, and Bran just smiled. “You sounded just like Mother when you said my name like that. And no, I didn’t read your mind. I can’t read minds. I just know my sister well.”

Tears sprung to her eyes as she smiled back at him. Everyone seemed to know well enough not to inquire further. 

Sandor spoke then, and asked Gendry if he still meant to leave with the Queen’s army. She silently thanked him for taking the attention off her as she wiped away the tears with her napkin. 

“No, now that we’re married, it’s more than just me and the horse. We’ll stay a few more weeks if that’s alright? We need to see to Milly’s shop, and I had Maester Paul send a raven to Ser Davos. Lord Davos. I’m waiting on his reply.”

“Davos? What for?” Sandor asked. 

“It was Arya’s idea. I didn’t even know I was Davos’ Leige Lord now. It’s partly his fault I’m Lord of Storms End now, so I’ve sent a raven to ask if he’d come join us once we arrive, be my helper for a bit.”

“Advisor. Not helper.” Arya corrected. “I figured a man like Davos, having been at sea most of his life, would be bored stiff stuck at home after a few months. I’m guessing he’ll be more than pleased to be called to duty.”

Gendry nodded. “And he was born and raised in Flea Bottom too. He became a knight, a Lord, and Hand to two kings. Figured no one knows better what it’s like to go from nothing to something, and I'll need all the help I can get.”

“It’s an excellent idea.” Sansa said. “And of course you and Milly are welcome here at Winterfell for as long as you like. I’m so pleased you’ll both be here for our wedding.”

“When will it be m'Lady?” Milly asked enthusiastically. 

“Three days from now, in the Godswood. Which means another feast.” The feast would double as a send off for Jon, Tyrion, Arya, and Sandor, but that would not be revealed. She was sure Arya had already told Gendry of her upcoming journey to Kings Landing, but unfortunately her people and Lords could not be made aware of it beforehand. All would be told afterwards, once the new Queen sat the throne. 

“That reminds me, Arya, Lord Jonah, would you be so kind as to speak to some of the other men, and see if a hunt can be arranged for tomorrow? Hopefully the army departing today won't scare off every last creature in the Wolfswood. If we can’t bring in any game, we’ll need to slaughter some of our livestock, which I was hoping to avoid. We’ve just started to build our numbers back.” Sansa said.

“Some will push south ahead of the army, but the Kings Road veers east, so there should still be good hunting in the Wolfswood, my Lady.” Jonah told her.

“I’ll go too, I want to ride. I need to start training again as well.” Arya said.

“As long as Maester Paul says you’re stitches are healed enough.” Jon warned her. Arya rolled her eyes. 

“Now it's Jon who sounds like Mother. I can't wait too much longer. Clegane, are you going to see to the Guard with Jaime and Brienne this morning?” Arya asked. 

“Aye. Lannister has brought in more men, and I want every one of them as ready as they can be. Why don’t you and Lord Jonah come along for a bit. I could use some extra eyes on them. And Lord Blacksmith, if you can tear yourself away from your bride, I’ll need to see to the Guard’s weapons as well.”

Gendry looked almost relieved for a reason to get out of his new clothes and back into the forge.

There was a knock at the solar door, and a moment later, Trey poked his head in. 

“Lady Stark, if it please, Lord Clegane said you could use my help today? He said to come see you once I was finished upstairs.”

“Yes Trey, I can most definitely use your help today. And Milly, would you be free a bit later? There’s something I could use your assistance with.” Sansa rose to take her leave, and gave Sandor a kiss on his chewing cheek.

“Oh, I’d be honored to help any way I can m'Lady!” Milly gushed.

“My Lady, not m'Lady.” Arya corrected, and Sansa had to laugh at her sister’s sudden regard for propriety. Another idea struck Arya. “I’ll ask Maester Paul to work with you both a bit before you go, a little each day. Best you learn all you can before you head to Storm’s End.”

“That’s a good idea. And if Arya can learn proper etiquette, anyone can.” Sansa told Milly and Gendry with a smirk at her sister. 

“Very funny, Sansa. Not all of us were born curtsying and sewing handkerchiefs.” Arya teased back good naturedly. 

Just then a ear-splitting scream filled the air, and a giant shadow passed the solar windows. Milly dropped her cup and her hands flew to her ears. Jon looked up from his conversation with Val and his brow drew together. 

Sansa went to the window and looked out. When she turned back she met Jon’s eyes, and saw he had already guessed what she had seen, and flicked a concerned glance at Val and little Mason.

“Were you expecting her?” Tyrion asked Jon.

“No.” He rose. “Best we get down there. She probably thought to come to see her army off.”

Sansa smiled at her new assistant. “Well, Trey, seems our day just got a bit busier. Would you like to meet the Queen and see if she’d like some breakfast?”


	52. An Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter, but one that didn't seem right to split in two. And at the end, we get Sansa and Daenerys doing a bit of bonding over their similar tastes ;)

Chapter 52 – An Understanding

*Sandor*

After breakfast, Sandor, Brienne, and Jonah put each one of the newest Guards through their paces in the training yard. Jaime and Arya watched, weighing their strengths and weaknesses, and decided where each was to be assigned. 

This group of new recruits, like the last, was made up of many second, third, and even fourth sons and cousins of Northern houses. The rebirth of Winterfell, the Starks, and the honor of guarding the seat of the Wardeness of the North drawing many.

They had reached about sixty Guard, men and boys, in a matter of days, and more continued to come daily. Didn’t hurt that he had told Jaime Lannister to pass along word that Winterfell would be paying well for trained men, and providing castle steel and training for those still green but willing. Sandor had finally found a good use for the fortune in gold dragons the little Queen bestowed upon him along with his Lordship. It was worth every bit of it to keep Winterfell safe. 

It was another warm day, and even Brienne had stripped off her jerkin and was sparring in her tunic and vest. 

The yard and baileys were especially busy. Word of the Queens return and the army's departure had spread, and drew out the Lords and Ladies, as well as children hoping to see the dragons. 

He hadn’t seen Sansa or the Queen all morning, but the two dragons didn’t disappoint. The pair seemed pleased to be reunited, and flew playfully to and fro over the castle. That is, if two giant, fire-breathing beasts swooping and screeching overhead could be considered playful.

Fathers and sons had come to the yard to watch sons and brothers, and added their shouts of encouragement to the clash of training swords.

Sandor knew most of the faces by now, if not the names. One face was new though, a tall, lantern-jawed Lord, who attracted the attention of both the other Lords and more than a few Ladies as well. He asked Jonah who the man was.

“That’s Lord Dustin. He didn’t make it up here before the Long Night. Must not have been overly concerned, being one of our more Southern houses. Probably came now to pay his respects to the Wardeness, and unload a few sons. Those two, there,” Jonah pointed to two younger, well dressed and well trained recruits. “are his.”

“Clearly a widower, the way the hens are gathering to peck at him.”

“Yes, a widower about six years now, if I recall correctly. The first wife gave him five sons. Probably figures he no longer has need of a wife.”

The man seemed to sense their attention, turned their way, and nodded. When Sandor returned the greeting, Lord Dustin began to make his way over.

“Lord Clegane, I presume. You’re a hard one to miss. Seems you and the Lannister are putting together quite a fine Household Guard. My two youngest were most anxious to join.”

The Lord looked of an age with him, and carried himself as a fighter, as well as a Lord. 

“Aye. We needed to rebuild the Guard. Your boys seem to be doing well. They’ll make good additions.”

“We is it? Oh that’s right, you’re supposed to be marrying our Lady Sansa Stark.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the man’s tone.

“I remember, just a year before Ned became Hand to King Robert, the boys and I came to call on the Starks. Lady Sansa was already a beauty at thirteen, and so tall for her age. Regal looking, really. And such a proper young hostess. She herself had sewn the boys each their own little doll, soldiers, in House Dustin armor. So sweet. I had lost my wife to illness the year prior, and thought to make a match with her. Once she flowered, of course. But Ned wouldn’t hear of it. Little did I know he was holding her out for a Prince. And now here she is, Wardeness of the North, and engaged to be married. To you. How the years fly by.”

“That they do. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my men.” 

As he returned to the last few recruits, he thought both of the Lord’s story of his Little Bird as the girl he remembered, sewing her little dolls for her guests, and of how he didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes when he spoke of her.

After they had finished in the yard, he sent the recruits who came with their own weapons to see Lobar in the armory to have their swords and spears cleaned and sharpened. Those that didn’t have their own steel were sent to see Gendry in the forge to order what they needed. 

It was midday by the time they were done. They planned to take their meal in the Hall, and afterward Arya and Jonah would head off to find the rest of the Umbers, and any others that wanted to hunt tomorrow morning. He figured most of the Lords would be anxious to get themselves and their horses out. Didn’t suit most men to sit around a castle. 

Arya was off talking with Brienne about training together tomorrow afternoon, so Lord Jonah was left waiting with Sandor and Jaime. 

“Will you be joining us for the hunt, Lord Clegane, Lord Lannister?” Jonah asked. 

Still sounded odd. Both he and Jaime addressed as Lords.

“Aye. Not much for hunting, but Stranger needs the exercise. I’ll be coming along.”

“Not me, I can’t stand hunting. My father loved a good hunt, though. I never understood it.”

“Why is it knights never seem to like to hunt?” the boy asked.

“I'm no knight. Just him. But even so, we were trained since we could hold a sword to kill men, not creatures. No sport in an animal not swinging steel back at you.” Sandor told him.

“Unless you count the boar that ripped Robert apart. Those tusks may as well have been spears.” Jaime addded.

“That was no sport for the boar. King was piss drunk on the wine that little shit Lancel was practically pouring down his throat.”

“That was my sister’s doing. Easiest King she ever killed. She was fucking him, you know. Lancel. Kettleblack too, would you believe it? Tyrion told me. I’m just sorry the stable boy got to that one before I did.”

Sandor glanced at Jonah, but the boy knew enough not to say anything, and deftly changed the subject. 

“So you both grew up together? At Casterly Rock?” he asked.

“In a way. He was the Lordling and I was the hired help. But I got to train with his Master at Arms, and was soon knocking his golden arse in the dirt.”

“You were a formidable sparring partner, Clegane. Taught me how to be quick, once you outgrew me in size.”

“Aye, and quick you were. Almost unbeatable with two hands. Almost.”

“Why thank you. I only had to wait a decade or so for the compliment.”

Just then, Sandor saw two of the four Lords that had stood with fat Lord Manderly making their way to the Hall for the midday meal. 

“Which ones are those?” he asked the boy, pointing at the two men. 

“Lords Locke and Wells.” He answered, and Sandor made note of it.

The Little Wolf finally joined them. “Was that Lord Dustin I saw you talking to earlier, Clegane? I never liked him. He’s handsome enough, but used to come to Winterfell to sniff around Sansa. Like she’d want to marry some old Lord.”

“Old? He looks to be my age, girl.”

“No accounting for her taste these days.” She shrugged, and dismissed the subject. “Anyways, my new saddle isn’t ready yet, but I spoke to Tom in the stables earlier, and he said he has one that was left behind by some dead Bolton. Should fit Hrazefi. I want to take her out on the hunt tomorrow.”

“Hrazefi?” Sandor repeated.

“Yes, that’s what I've named her. It means horse in Dothraki. A mare, more specifically. Figured she should have a Dothraki name.”

“It’s a good name, girl.” he nodded, and picked up his sword and jerkin.

“I’ll meet you all in the Hall. Going to the stables to clean up first. Don’t let this one eat all the food before I get there.” He pointed to Lord Jonah. The boy ate like a bear, and was almost the size of one. If he kept at it, he’d be bigger than his father soon.

In the stables, he took the knot from his hair, removed his tunic, and poured water over his head and face from a barrel of clean water, then washed his hands. 

He had to admit he didn’t mind his hair tied back. Was better having it out of his face when he sparred. He knotted it back up again himself, probably not as neatly as Sansa had done, but it would do. 

Once he was done and dressed, he strapped on his sword belt and went to say hello to Stranger. Told him they would hunt tomorrow, and left him with some apples. He found Tom, and told him of the hunt as well.

“Have the other two lads up early. No telling how many will be in the party, but there’ll be enough, and they’ll all be clamoring for their mounts, one louder than the next.”

“Yes, m'Lord. I’ll see to it.”

“And the saddle you spoke to Lady Arya of, let me see it.”

The boy ran off and returned with it a moment later. Sandor looked it over. It was a fine enough saddle. Would do for now. “Take the rasp to these shit flayed man sigils on it, and have it cleaned and oiled for the Lady before morning.”

“Yes, m'Lord.”

When he entered the Hall he scanned the room and found where Lord Locke and Lord Wells were sitting. As luck would have it, the other two from last night were seated with them as well. Lords Waterman and Marsh. He didn’t know which was which, and didn’t very well care. He approached the table and their conversation died away.

“Locke. Wells.” He addressed them, and pointed his chin at the others. “And you two. By order of the Wardeness, the four of you will be leaving in the morning. You’re to find Harrold Manderly, and advise him of his new position as the Lord of House Manderly. I’ll even spare four Stark Guards as an escort. Make sure you don’t lose your way.”

Waterman and Marsh didn’t look pleased, but were bright enough to nod their acceptance. Of course the other two cunts had something to say.

“Ah, the Lannister Hound has orders for us. Or is it the Stark Hound now?” Lord Wells said, as he rose. He was a large enough man, but had a weak chin and the small eyes of a rodent. 

The other, Locke, stood and made a show of gripping the pommel of his sword before he spoke.

“No, he’s a Lord now. Lord Clegane. And our Wardeness has been a Stark, almost a Baratheon, then a Lannister, Baelish’s plaything, a Bolton, and now a Stark once more.” Lock said with a self-amused smirk.

He could see The Little Wolf watching with the others a few tables away, and he could tell she was reading the set of his jaw with growing amusement. 

Sandor said nothing. Waiting. With cunts like these, you had to be patient. Finally, rat-faced Wells decided he needed the last word. 

“It doesn’t really matter what you're called though, does it? As long as you end up with Winterfell and what’s between its Lady's legs. Shame so many have been there first, eh, Hound?”

From the corner of his eye he saw the smile spread across the Little Wolf’s face. He looked her way and then laughed out loud. She knew him too well.

The sound of the bones of Lord Wells face breaking under his fist was music to his ears. Locke's no less so. Stupid fucker didn’t even draw his sword knowing his own face was next.

He didn’t even look at the two now lying unconscious on the rushes, but to the others. Lords Waterman and Marsh.  
“Best drag your friends up to see Maester Paul. You’ll all be riding at first light.”

*Sansa*

Sansa and Trey waited at the gate as Jon and Tyrion went out to the West field to meet the Queen. 

“I’ve never met a Queen before m'Lady. I mean, my Lady. I saw her when she was here, but that’s not the same as meeting her.”

The boy was clearly nervous. “She’s just a person, Trey. She’s worked hard to earn her title of Queen, and she somehow hatched three dragons, but otherwise you’ll see she’s just like you and me.”

He didn’t look reassured, but conducted himself very well when they were introduced, despite all the blushing. 

The Queen greeted Sansa warmly. She looked magnificent in a black riding coat trimmed in crimson, and with her hair in just a single braid coiled atop her head. She appeared well rested, and softer now somehow. 

Jon and Tyrion advised that she had indeed come to see her army off on their march south. Both men looked relieved that that was all there seemed to be to the visit.

She held Jon’s arm more than formally as they entered the gate, and Sansa met her brother’s eyes in question at the intimacy, but his face gave away nothing. 

“Are you hungry or thirsty from your ride, Your Grace? We still have breakfast being served in the family solar?”

“Some wine would be lovely. And I’m anxious to hear all about your wedding plans. I’m glad I left a few gowns here, I wouldn’t want to attend in my riding outfit.”

Now Jon’s eyes did widen in surprise. 

“You’ll be staying for the wedding? How wonderful, I’ll be the very first bride who can say they Queen of the Seven Kingdoms flew in on a dragon to attend her wedding.”

“It's my honor Lady Sansa, you’re Jon’s sister after all, I wouldn’t think to miss it. Plus, I look forward to going over the plans for Kings Landing with Lady Arya. If what Jon tells me is true, she’s even more remarkable than I originally thought. I will owe her much if taking the throne can be done without battle.”

When they arrived in the solar, all had already taken their leave, but the plates of food had been refreshed, and there was wine and tea on the table for the Queen. 

The foursome sat with their wine, and she, Jon, and Tyrion caught the Queen up on all that had transpired in her absence. Well, all that they could tell her, at least. Left out were the details surrounding Val and Mason, and the possible pregnancy of Cersei Lannister. Jon explained the reason for Sandor going to Kings Landing as well, advising it as a precaution, and to aid in Arya’s faceless ruse.

After a bit, Jon and Tyrion excused themselves to see that all was ready for the army’s departure, promising to return for her once the march was to begin. The Queen wanted to speak to her men, and then she and Jon would escort them on Rhaegal and Drogon as far as was feasible before dinner.

Sansa dismissed Trey, as she sensed the Queen wanted to talk privately.

Once they were alone, she refilled their wine, and waited for the Queen to speak. She didn’t have to wait long.

“So you’re marrying Sandor Clegane. I must say, I was surprised when your brother told me. I think he was a bit surprised as well.”

“Yes, Jon was most surprised. I don’t think he expected me to marry again for quite some time after the string of unfortunate betrothals and husbands I’ve had already.”

Sansa was a bit startled when the Queen took her hand. “You have, haven’t you? And not one of them your choice. This tradition of forced marriages is something I plan to end during my reign. Every woman should have the choice of saying no. And this wedding, it is your choice?”

“Very much so. I love Sandor with all my heart.”

“I know of all he’s done for you and your family. It’s just, I’ve heard stories of how he’s quite the harsh and brutal man. More warrior than High Lord for such a Lady as yourself.” The Queen said gently.

“And I’ve heard stories of a young girl, married to the brutal and savage Khal Drogo. The fiercest Dothraki Khal alive. And how it was their love and their passion that created a Queen and her dragons.”

Daenerys Targaryen blushed. Sansa was so shocked she almost fell out of her chair. She didn’t think the Queen capable of it.

“Forgive me, Lady Sansa. You’re absolutely right. Drogo was my one true love. The sun of my life. He WAS a brutal man. A warrior. Except with me. With me he was gentle and sweet. Patient and loving. I was his Moon, and he would have given me the world if he had lived.”

“Then I think we understand one another in this. Would he have been the same man if he were not the fierce warrior he was? Would he have stirred your love and passion the same way?”

“No.” The Queen whispered, with tears in her eyes. “I loved both sides of him.”

“As I love both sides of Sandor Clegane.” 

“Yes. We do seem to understand one another in this.”

“And the passion.”

“Oh, the passion.” The Queen laughed through her tears. “I do miss it so. To this very day.”

The Queen wiped at her tears. “And if I might be so bold to ask, have you and he…”

It was Sansa’s turn to blush. “Yes.”

“And it’s like…” 

“Yes.”

“Well then. There’s nothing more you could wish for, is there Lady Sansa?”

“No, he's everything.”

***

When Jon and Tyrion returned to tell the Queen the army would be ready to march in an hour, they all decided to go down to the Hall for the midday meal. The Queen wanted to greet her Northern subjects. 

Without Maester Paul employed ahead of time to act as herald, they all entered quietly and unannounced, and there was only a murmur as they took their seats. 

The attention in the Hall was focused on Sandor, standing before a table of the Lords who had supported Lord Manderly last night. 

She knew instantly what the scene was about. Lord Wells and Lord Locke were standing, and Sandor was not pleased. 

“What’s going on?” Asked Jon. 

Tyrion raised his brows. "Lord Manderly's friends. Two of them are apparently suicidal."

The Queen smiled at Sansa, and nodded towards Sandor. “You’re betrothed, if I recall correctly?”

“Yes, that’s Sandor.”

An instant later he laughed, and smashed his fist into one Lord, then the other. They crumpled at his feet.

“Aaah,” the Queen sighed, and still smiling took Sansa’s arm, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially, “How he makes me miss Drogo.”


	53. A Naked Dwarf

Chapter 53 – A Naked Dwarf

*Sansa*

After Lords Wells and Locke were dragged from the Hall, the rest of the day went rather smoothly. 

The armies left, Jon and the Queen with them. Arya and Jonah were off assembling the hunting party for tomorrow, and Sandor and Jaime rode out beyond the walls to assess Winterfell's perimeter, and any damage the army left behind.

Sansa was finally free to see to her plans for the feast and the wedding.

She sent for Trey, and then found Milly in her chambers, looking a bit lost without Gendry’s company. She made note to introduce her to some of the other Ladies later. Sansa knew first-hand how lonely a castle could be when you hadn’t many friends.

They saw to the kitchens first, and spoke to the cook about the menu for the feast, deciding all but for whatever game the hunters returned with. 

Mathilde the baker gave her a warm, floury pat on the cheek when they were done planning the breads and sweets. 

“I like that one, m'Lady. Your big Lord. You done well.” The old woman told her, of Sandor.

She was pleased to see Trey and Milly attentive to all she was doing, and asking thoughtful questions along the way. 

After the kitchens, the servants were given instructions for preparing the Hall, and the musicians given a few specific songs Sansa requested. 

Maester Paul was next on her list, and they climbed the four flights of steps in the Keep to see him.

She was happy to see he had already tended to the patients Sandor had provided him earlier, and was alone.

“My Lady,” he said as he answered her knock. “Excellent timing. Lady Baratheon, Trey.” He nodded his greetings. 

“I’ve just received a raven from Pannos at Deepwood Motte. All but his small party of the Thenns have left the castle, and are making their way to Eastwatch. Those at Bear Island and Last Hearth as well. He will be departing soon for Thenn, to meet with his people about chosing a new Magnar.”

“That’s good news. Send a raven back asking him to attend me at Winterfell as my honored guest, at his convenience, once all has been decided in Thenn.”  
“Yes, My Lady.”

“Now we need to see to wedding announcements, and I’d also like to have a written invitation presented to the Lords and Ladies here at the castle. Nothing lengthy, just something the pages can deliver in person. Trey will be working as my steward-in-training, and I’m told he both reads and writes well, isn’t that so, Trey?”

“Yes m'Lady. I mean, My Lady.” He corrected.

“Good. Then if you’d be so kind as to assist Maester Paul? And Maester, I’d like you to see that Trey learns the Houses and regional customs, along with his histories. His new position should benefit him a Maester’s teachings.”

“Yes. My, Lady, I’ll be happy to work with him.”

“I have two other pupils for you as well. Lord and Lady Baratheon, also being new to their positions, will need a quicker course in the same, with a special care to court etiquette. I know you’re not a Septa, but perhaps you could assist?”

Maester Paul smiled at Milly. “It would be my pleasure. Lady Baratheon, send for me whenever you and Lord Baratheon have the time to spare.”

Sansa and Milly thanked him, and left the Maester and Trey to their writings. 

“We have one last errand for this afternoon.” She told Milly. “And here is where I’ll need your assistance. Once you and Lord Gendry ride for Storms End, what plans have you for the girls you employed?”

“None, my Lady. I’m not sure what they will do.”

“In that case, I’d like to offer them positions here at Winterfell. We will have great need of their services. We have the servants and Guard to uniform, and clothing for my family. You know I enjoy making my own gowns, but as my duties grow, I find myself with less free time."

“That would be wonderful, my Lady!”

As they were talking, they had made their way to the laundy, where she found Trey’s mother, Annabelle. 

The woman was small and slight, and she could see where Trey got his looks and sweet demeanor. 

“Annabelle, Trey tells me you’re quite the seamstress, and that you’re already acquainted with Milly, our new Lady Baratheon?”

“Yes, m'Lady. And Milly, congratulations. We were all so excited to hear of your marriage.”

“Annabelle, with Milly leaving, and Winterfell growing by the day, I have need of a castle seamstress. I was hoping you might be willing to take on the role. I plan to offer positions to the girls Lady Baratheon employed as well. There’s a large, bright solar on the forth floor of the Keep that would suit once work tables are brought in. You’ll have full charge of it, and a new salary suitable to the position. Will you accept?”

Annabelle looked elated. “I will. Nothing would please me more than to sew all day. Thank you so much m'Lady.” 

“I’ll help you get set up!” Milly told Annabelle. “It will give me something to do before we go. We can go see to the solar this afternoon!”

Sansa left the two women planning excitedly, and headed to her chambers to rest a bit before dressing for dinner.

She found Arya waiting for her in her solar, curled up in one of the big chairs, reading a book.

“You’re reading?”

“I do know how, sister. It’s about dragons. I wanted to brush up on my dragon lore before my ride on Rhaegal." Arya closed the book and set it aside. "I needed to talk to you about something.”

“Well you chose an opportune time. I just finished all my tasks for the day, and plan to do nothing more than sit here and have a glass of wine.”

She poured a cup for each of them and sat in the other big chair.

“After all is settled in Kings Landing, Jonah and I have decided to take a trip.”

“Where?”

“We have a few places across the Narrow Sea we plan to visit. I want to get back to Braavos, see Jaquen. We have some unfinished business. Then to Pentos, Volantis, and Lys.”

Sansa was suddenly saddened at the thought of Arya leaving. She would miss this new sisterly relationship between them, but she wasn’t surprised. She always knew her sister craved more than life in a castle.

“Sounds like quite the adventure. You’ll be gone a long time.”

“I know. But then I’ll come home. Because now I have a home again.”

“You better. I’m going to miss you terribly now that I finally like you. Sandor will miss you too. And speaking of Sandor, he saw a certain somebody leaving your chambers late last night.”

“While he was creeping up to your chambers late last night?” Arya smirked.

“Yes, he did happen to come to my chambers. So tell me, Did you and Jonah…?”

“Yes, and it was… Wow. He has an enormous cock. I mean I figured, since he’s so big, but Gods, I could barely walk afterwards. But I’m not complaining.”

“Arya!” Sansa almost choked on her wine, and blushed red to her roots.

“What? We can’t talk about that? Men talk about women all the time. Whose tits are bigger than whose, and such. And you’re only blushing because you know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t you?” 

“I. Well. Yes, but… I thought you didn’t want details. About Sandor and I. His... And…”

“Ew. You’re right. I don’t. Yuck. Alright then, enough of this. Better we don't discuss the details then... It's suddenly become uncomfortable. I’m going to clean up for dinner. I’ll see you in the Hall.”

*Sandor*

The grounds around Winterfell were torn to shit, but that was to be expected of a camped army of men and horses. And dragons. The fields wouldn’t need much help growing back, just time.

As the sun began to set he andJaime returned to the Keep to clean up and change for dinner. 

When he entered his rooms Trey was building a fire, and had two messages for him. One was that Brandon the Raven wanted to speak to him in the library before dinner, and the other was a written invitation to his own wedding. 

“I did the writing myself, m’Lord. I mean, My Lord. I made an extra for you. Though you might like to have it.”

“Your penmanship is good, lad. I’ll keep it in case I forget where to show up and when. Did the Lady Sansa see to all the things she needed to today?”

“She did. She was quite pleased. And thank you. For the position with her. I’m enjoying it.”

“Good. I best get cleaned up quickly and be off to see the Raven then. I’m starving, and don’t much feel like puzzling out his riddles all night.”

After he was dressed and Trey left him, he picked up the invitation again. 

‘The Lady Sansa Stark and Lord Sandor Clegane request the honor of your attendance as they join in marriage before the Heart Tree, in the Winterfell Godswood, three days hence, at sunset.’

He read it again, then folded it and put it inside the breast pocket of his jerkin. 

When he got to the Library he noticed two fewer chairs in front of the hearth, and chuckled to himself. 

Brandon Stark was seated and again all but swallowed up by one of the remaining chairs.

“My Raven? Raven Brandon? Lord Raven? I’m not entirely sure how to address you, boy.”

“Bran. You’re my good brother now. You’re family. Part of the pack, as Arya would say. Just Bran is fine.”

“Alright, Bran it is. You asked to see me?”

“You and Sansa are joined now in the eyes of the Old Gods, and soon in the eyes of everyone else. There’s a tradition in the North. Before a wedding, the bride and groom are to visit their dead. To look back before they look forward. You have no dead here, but Sansa does.”

“So she’ll visit the crypts before the wedding?”

“She went down into the crypts during the Long Night, but that was only for shelter. She refused to see father. Rickon. Couldn't bear to even enter their hall. And she has no plans to do so before the wedding. But it’s time.”

“So what am I to do? Carry her down the steps kicking and screaming? Drop her before Eddard Stark's statue in tears? I won’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to. She must have a good reason.”

“Talk to Tyrion tonight, but after dinner. Ask him about the necklace. It’s time she knew.”

“The necklace.”

“It’s part of her circle.”

“It IS a circle." 

“A coincidence that wasn’t a coincidence.” Bran said. “But she needs you now to close one circle around the another.” 

“You are aware that you make no fucking sense most of the time, aren’t you?”

Bran laughed. It was startling. A glimpse of the little boy he saw running around Winterfell years ago.

“Nothing is supposed to make sense until sense has finished being made.”

"And why isn't it you that speaks to Tyrion and your sister of this? Is it really my place?"

"It must be you."

“Bloody hells, boy. Fine. I’ll talk to Tyrion." His stomach gave a growl. "Are you coming down to the Hall for dinner? I can give you a push if you like.”

“No. Thank you. I’ll stay here a bit longer.”

“Suit yourself. Good night, Bran.”

“Good night, Sandor.”

***

Tyrion had taken rooms not far from the library, as he spent much of his free time reading. 

Fuck talking to him after dinner. He wanted to be with Sansa after dinner. He’d stop and talk to him now.

He knocked at the door, but it was a few moments before he was called in.

When he entered he was greeted by the sight of a naked girl on the bed, climbing off a naked dwarf.

“Others take you, you little shit. Did you think for a moment of just not answering the bloody door? I didn’t need to see that. Saw enough of it in the Godswood. The Queen’s only been gone a few hours, and you’re already piss drunk with a whore in your bed?”

“We only have a few days until we fly off on a dragon to our possible demise. I intend to spend them drunk and fucking.”

“You’ll be sitting on your arse miles away, I’ll be the one walking into my possible demise.”

The girl was watching him, kneeling on the bed and not moving to cover herself. Neither was Tyrion. 

“I’m not a whore,” the girl said. “I’m a Free Woman.” 

Ah. The Wildling serving girl. He was at that again.

“A little too free, as I see it. Go put your clothes on, girl, and get to dinner. The Lady Stark doesn’t keep you employed to lay around fucking her guests. You too Lannister. I need to talk to you, and I won’t be missing my dinner to do it.”

The girl turned to Tyrion. “So he’s not going to be joining us?”

Fucking hells.

“Gods no. I’d like to keep what little dignity I have left. That one drops his breeches and I won’t be able to show my cock in the North ever again. Dress my sweet. I’ll see you later.” Tyrion said, pinching the girl's bottom, then reaching for his robe.

The girl dressed and left as Tyrion poured them some wine. Sandor emptied the cup in two swallows. He needed it after that scene. The dwarf however, didn’t need another drop.

“Pretty thing, isn’t she? And now I know why they call them ‘Wildlings’, oh, Clegane, you wouldn’t believe what she can do with her…”

“Enough. I need to ask you something. The necklace you gave Sansa in Kings Landing, when you were married. Where did you get it?”

“Thinking of buying your Lady some baubles? You’ll be hard pressed to find a decent jeweler this far North. Although once we travel south there are a few I'd be happy to reccomend …”

“Lannister, I’ll have no qualms about holding you out that window by the ankle and letting your naked arse greet all the Lords and Ladies coming to dinner. Now tell me.”

Tyrion ran a hand over his face and shook his head to sober up a bit before he finally answered. Closed his robe too, thank the Gods.

“Clegane, the fact that you’re even asking leads me to believe you know exactly where I got it, and exactly what it is.”

“So then tell me why.”

“Because I thought she should have it. I thought it might help. A peace offering.”

“But you never told her what it was.”

“No. She had just learned of her mother and brother. She was inconsolable. She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink, barely left the bed. I feared for her daily. What seemed like a good idea at the time suddenly became insignificant in the face of her grief. I couldn’t tell her the truth. She didn’t deserve anything that might cause her more pain."

“No. She didn’t deserve anything your family did to her.”

“I promise you Clegane, I did all I could to ease her suffering. Keep her safe from Joffrey. Let her know I wouldn’t touch her, that I would respect her, be a good husband."

“I know. She told me.”

“But I won’t lie. I wanted her. And I wanted her to love me. She’s so very beautiful. Strong. Clever. I tried my very best. There was a time when I thought that if not for Joffrey’s murder, we might still be together. Might have made a real marriage."

“I would have returned to kill you.”

“Yes, I suppose you would have.”

Tyrion poured himself another cup of wine, and they were both quiet a moment, lost in their own thoughts. 

“How did you do it Clegane?” Tyrion asked softly. “I’ve wondered. Why did she fall in love with the monster of you, and not the monster of me?”

Sandor sighed. “I have no fucking idea.” 

“So, the necklace. Will you tell her?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes.”

Sandor had no clue what the truth of the necklace had to do with getting the Little Bird to visit her father in the crypts, but he supposed he’d find out soon enough.


	54. Closets and Candles

Chapter 54 – Closets and Candles

The High Table was already seated when he entered the Hall, and he noticed that it had been expanded to include Gendry and Milly, and their latest guest Lord Dustin. 

Jon and the dragon Queen were back from their escort as well.

Val had been placed far from Jon Snow and the Queen, discreetly tucked at one end between Sigorn and Tormund. 

His Little Bird looked beautiful in a light blue dress that left her shoulders bare. Her hair was piled softly atop her head, and the expanse of pale skin created was as mesmerizing to him as the tops of her breasts had been earlier. 

She smiled at him as he came up the aisle. The Queen beside her had an odd little smile for him too. 

What the hells was that about?

He took what was now his usual seat between Sansa and Arya, and resisted the urge to place a kiss on Sansa’s bare shoulder by pouring himself a cup of wine instead. 

“My Lord.” She greeted him. 

“My Lady.”

The little Queen leaned forward to address him. “Lord Clegane, you dealt quite effectively with those rogue Lords today. You would have been within your rights to take their heads for such treasonous talk against the Wardeness.”

“Aye, Your Grace, and it would have given me pleasure to, but there’s a shortage of Northern Lords at the moment. Might be that a few broken noses sets them to rights. If not, they’ll be seeing me again.”

The little Queen smiled at that. She was in black tonight, and had her pale white hair in a single braid. She looked more relaxed than the last time he’d seen her. Jon Snow, on the other hand, looked more tense than usual, and kept glancing down the table at the Wildling girl. 

They ate and drank, and midway through their meal Tyrion finally waddled through the Hall doors and up to his place at the table.

“So good of you to make it to dinner, my Hand.” The Queen said with an arched brow. 

The dwarf smiled, and came to kiss her hand. “My Queen. I was just taking in all the pleasures of the North before we depart.”

“Clearly. You may want to see to your breeches, all that pleasure seems to have turned them inside out. But I applaud that you still managed to lace them.” The Queen smirked. 

Sandor barked a laugh. The little fuck was at least sobered up enough to blush before excusing himself to correct the situation. 

After dinner the Lady Stark called for the three musicians and dancing. 

Snow led the dragon Queen out for the fist dance, and he saw the Wildling girl watch them with veiled glances.

Other couples joined in afterwards, and he offered his hand to Sansa. As they took their places he was finally able to steal a kiss, and pulled her close. 

“I received an invitation today, Little Bird.”

She smiled up at him, and it still made his heart catch. 

“Did you?”

“Aye. Seems I’m set to marry some fine Lady.”

“Well then she’s one lucky Lady.” She said, rising onto her toes for another kiss.

Once the dance ended they found the Queen at their side. “May I steal a dance with your betrothed, Lady Sansa?”

“Certainly, your grace.”

Shit. 

When he started this dancing business it was only for the Little Bird. He never had any intention of having to dance with anyone else. But he knew that courtesy demanded he not refuse the Queen. So he gave her a bow and danced.

She was so small he had to lean over to hold her, and he instantly missed the fit of Sansa’s taller frame.

“Lord Clegane, I wanted to congratulate you on your betrothal.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

He felt like he was dancing with a wee girl, as she looked up at him. Would almost be easier just to pick her up and spare his back.

“She’s a remarkable woman, Lady Sansa. She helped me realize something today.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing. She was smiling oddly at him again, but he could tell she was lost in her own thoughts. Then her focus returned, and she looked at him intently. “Love her well, Lord Clegane. We only get true love once in our lifetime.”

The song ended and the little Queen reached up and placed her hand on his chest. “Thank you for the dance.”

“My pleasure, Your Grace.”

He didn’t have long to think on her words, because when he turned to look for Sansa, he saw her dancing with Lord Dustin. 

Something moved at his hip, and he looked down to find Tyrion at his side, looking a bit more put together. 

Sandor tried to calm the anger that was rising in his chest at seeing the Little Bird dance with that man.

“Perhaps we should have some more wine?” Tyrion suggested, noticing what he was scowling at. 

He nodded, and they made their way to the High Table. They passed Gendry and Milly dancing, if you could call Milly pulling and pushing the boy about as he tried to pick up the steps dancing, and saw Tormund twirling Val about in a dance he looked to be making up as he went along.

The girl was laughing and enjoying his antics, though. She was quite pretty when she wasn’t so serious.

Draining the wine Tyrion poured for him, and refilling his cup, he watched Sansa and Lord Dustin. She was smiling and laughing politely at whatever the man was saying, and he just kept telling himself the song would end soon enough. 

And the song did finally end, but Lord Dustin didn’t let her go.

“Well, I know that look on a man.” Tyrion commented of Lord Dustin. 

He watched as the fucker pulled her closer, and leaned down to whisper something. As he did so, he let his lips graze her ear.

A rush of rage drove Sandor to his feet, and the soreness of his knuckles reminded him of how good it felt to hit someone earlier. 

“Wait.” The dwarf said next to him. “Watch her.”

And then he saw it. She had pulled back to look up at Lord Dustin, and tilted her head.

“And here it comes.” Tyrion chuckled. 

They watched the smallest smile appear on her lips, and she leaned up to the man’s ear. Whatever she whispered caused the color to drain from Lord Dustin’s face, and he stepped back from her. She dropped her hands and clasped them in front of her demurely, the tilt in her head now joined by the highborn lift to her chin. The Lord bowed curtly to her, and made his way out of the Hall. She watched him until the doors closed behind him.

Then she turned to catch Sandor’s eyes, and smiled her Lady Wolf smile.

If his blood was up in fury a few moments ago, it was now up for a whole different reason. 

*Sansa*

She watched Sandor leave the High Table, and his eyes only left hers to bark at the musicians. “Ballad. Now.” And the lively song blended into a slow sweet one. Couples either moved in closer to one another, or reformed their pairs.

When he reached her standing amidst the dancers, his look made her stomach flutter. She knew that look quite well now.

If Arya thought their dance last night was indecent, it was a good thing she was nowhere in sight now. Thankfully the crowd was well into their cups and focused on their own merriment, or so she hoped.

He ran his hand down her back and pressed her against him. Her breath caught as she felt his desire, and her own swelled her breasts and lit the need for him between her legs. 

“What did he say to you, Little Bird?”

“Nothing you need to hear. What did Lords Wells and Locke say to you?”

“Nothing you need to hear.”

She smiled at him slyly, and pulled his head down to whisper in his ear. “The Queen seemed to enjoy your display today.”

“Ah. Is that why she wanted a dance?”

“Perhaps. You remind her of someone. We had a chance to speak privately earlier, and she helped me realize something.”

“She said the same of you.”

“Did she now?” she said, and still holding her lips to his ear, lightly took his earlobe between her teeth, then kissed his neck. 

He growled and slid his hand nearly to her bottom, and pulled her hips to him. “Little Bird, you do that again, when this dance ends, I won’t be able to walk straight.”

“Then let’s not wait for it to end.”

She took the hand she held, and led him behind her across the floor, and out the door that led to the kitchens.

“Where are you taking me, girl?”

“To get more candles.” She said loudly, and nodded a smile to a passing serving girl as they continued down the servants corridor. 

Taking a torch from the wall she opened a door, and led him inside, placing the torch in a holder on the wall to illuminate the room. Once that was done, she closed the door and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into her kiss.

He snatched her up immediately and took her breath away with the crush of his mouth. 

There was a large table in the center of the room covered in bundles of candles, loose candles, and lamp wicks.

He held her to him with one arm, and never breaking their kiss, shoved the heavy table across the room and against the door with the other.

Setting her atop it, he leaned her back to kiss her neck, her shoulders, and once he had pulled the ribbon of her bodice, her breasts. 

She moaned softly in the back of her throat as he took one nipple in his mouth, and then the other. 

He moaned as well when his hand slid up under her skirts, and found nothing but her skin.

“Where are your small clothes, Little Bird?” he said, as his fingers ran up her thighs, then into her damp curls.

“In my chambers.” She breathed, and then inhaled sharply at his touch there. 

“You’ve become quite forgetful.”

“I didn’t forget.”

He lifted her skirts and slid a hand under her bottom, then bent to put his mouth between her legs. 

Sansa dropped the back of her head to the table and arched her back as the sensations his mouth was creating sent stars before her eyes. “Oh Gods.” 

She threw her hands out to clutch at the table, and knocked candles to and fro.

“Oh... Oh Sandor... what... Oh Gods... Oh… GODS...” She couldn’t keep quiet, the feelings were so intense. Just when she thought she couldn’t take another moment, he lifted his head, and she sat up and pulled at his laces frantically. He took her fast and hard right there on the table.

She moaned once she felt all of him inside her, and threw her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. 

They were both breathing in gasps as he drove into her again and again. The table rocked, and candles fell everywhere with each movement.

She saw nothing and heard nothing, not even her own moans and cries, or the table banging against the door. There was only the feeling of him moving within her, the pleasure almost pain as it came over her. She arched her back and dug her heels into him harder, so she could feel him deeper, and her hands fisted in his hair.

“OH GODS. OH… GODS…” 

When his own pleasure came on he lifted her bottom higher and held himself deep within her, his head thrown back in a growl, and the cords of his neck pulled taught as he thrust into her one last time with a gasp. 

Once they had spent themselves he dropped his forehead to his forearm above her head, and continued to hold her hips to his, as they caught their breath. 

“Gods girl, you’re like to kill a man.” He said, his chest heaving like bellows. “I’ll never be able to light a candle again without going hard in my breeches. Thank the Gods I don’t go praying in Septs.” He picked up his head to look at her, curling the hand over her head around to brush the hair that had come undone from her face.

“What you did with your mouth…”

“Liked that, did you?”

“Gods.”

He laughed and kissed her. As he rose he gently smoothed down her skirts, and pulled the ribbons of her bodice closed, tying a silly bow. 

“I don’t think I can get up.” She laughed, rolling her head to the side on the table and looking at him.

He was lacing himself back into his breeches, holding his tunic and jerkin up with his teeth.

The broad, hard expanse of his stomach curved and the muscles bunched as he leaned over the laces, and she thought to herself about what a beautiful part of a man it was.

“Thaths wath y'get whu y'don wur thmall cluths t'dunnr, withl burd." he mumbled. 

“I didn’t understand a word of that Sandor.”

He pulled his tunic and jerkin out of his teeth and smoothed them down. 

“I said, that’s what you get when you don’t wear your small clothes to dinner, Little Bird. You get drug off to a candle closet and properly fucked.”

“I drug you off to the candle closet.”

“Same result.” He pointed out, and held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her up.

“Good Gods, we’ve made quite a mess of the room. Do you think they heard us in the corridor?”

“I think they heard us in Winter Town. Don’t fret, servants in a castle already know more about who’s doing what, when, and with whom, better than the ones doing it.”

He pulled the table back into place, and picked up some of the larger bundles they had knocked off. 

She felt her hair, and the loose curls Evvie had made and piled on her head were in shambles. She began pulling out the pins.

Sandor came over and helped her, combing through the curls gently with his fingers. Soon her hair was all down and freed. He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. 

“You look beautiful with your hair like that.”

She smiled. “Thank you. Do you think they’ll notice it's down now, back in the Hall?”

“We have to go back? I was thinking of a soft bed and that hair on my pillow about now.”

“We do. The Queen is here. It would be very impolite to retire before she does.”

“Fine. May be I could do with a drink and a sweet cake. I’ve worked up a bit of an appetite.” He patted his stomach. 

When they opened the door and stepped into the corridor they saw servants scurry away like mice, and Sandor barked a laugh. 

Sansa smoothed her hair and skirts, and they went back to the Hall. Duty called, even if her knees were still wobbling.


	55. Wolves and Dogs

Chapter 55 – Wolves and Dogs

*Sandor*

He had left the Little Bird still sleeping, sliding out of the large bed and tucking the cover around her, and was dressed and in the stables with Tom well before dawn.

A stop in the kitchens had provided him with an early breakfast and skins of both wine and water. Luckily the servants awake this early were not the same ones who may have heard their candle closet tryst last night, so he was spared having to ignore any giggling serving girls. 

The still-hot bundle of extra rolls and the crock of butter Mathilde had sent him off with he gave to Tom and the other two boys when he reached the stables.

Lord Manderly’s four cunt friends were in the yard, preparing to leave. He was pleased to see the purples and reds of the two beaten faces as they mounted. Lord Wells needing to go so far as to have his horse tethered to who was either Lord Waterman or Lord Marsh, (Sandor still didn’t give a fuck which was which), for his face was so swollen he couldn't open his eyes wide enough to see.

Sandor stood and watched them until their Stark Guard escorts arrived. Three of the fuckers wouldn’t meet his glare, and the last couldn’t. 

Good.

The hunters were having an early breakfast in the Hall, but he’d rather busy himself in the stables. There was little enough quiet time in a castle.

His breath steamed in the cold predawn air as he fed, brushed, and saddled Stranger. He liked this hour, or really any hour, when the rest of the castle still slept, and all was still and hushed.

During his years in the Red Keep he lived for the times he could be alone, and didn’t have to stand as invisible as a big ugly fucker like himself could, pretending to care, or not care, about the goings-on he guarded over. Once Joffrey had become King, his job had become so difficult, he’d leave his post with a tight chest and churning gut from the toll of trying not to see and feel it all. Closing himself off. But then even after wine, and then more wine, he’d be pulled towards the source of all his pain anyway. Find himself wandering the empty corridors and battlements of Maegors like a spectre, both looking for her and praying he wouldn't see her, chest still tight, and with thoughts like to drive him mad.

When he and Sansa had returned to the Hall last night, the drinking and dancing were still well underway. He suspected even the little Queen had had too much wine, as she was taking turns dancing with some of the Northmen; conspicuously so with one mad ginger, and conspicuously not so with Jon Snow, who had disappeared from the Hall. 

Tormund was still making up the steps, and the fool looked more to be stomping out a campfire while fighting off a hawk than dancing, but like Val, the Queen was smiling and laughing, dancing along with his antics and being tossed about. Perhaps it reminded her of those wild Dothraki feasts.

Tyrion had passed out with his head on the High Table, and Poderick, experienced at the task, had carried him to his room, and to his presumably naked and disappointed Wildling girl. If the boy had as much brains as he did blood in his cheeks, he had made the most of that situation.

By the time he and Sansa made it up to her rooms, they had done no more than undress and fall into bed asleep. He was thankfully neither beaten by any chambermaids, or kept awake by the screams of seamstresses being bedded by blacksmiths.

The sun was just beginning to rise as the Little Wolf arrived at the stables, and she had her brother with her.

“Lord Snow”. He nodded.

“Just Jon, We’re about to be family.”

“That’s what your brother Bran said last night. If someone had told me last year I would be Lord of Winterfell and family to the Starks, I would have told them they were mad."

"If someone had told me last year I would be named a King, then serving a Queen and flying about on a dragon, I would have said the same. It's apparently been quite a year for the both of us."

“Aye, that's the truth of it. I didn’t know you liked to hunt.”

“I do. Haven’t been out since before I joined the Watch. I’ve missed it.”

Arya was already in Hrazefi's stall, talking to the large white mare.

Jon chose one of the small garrons, and saddled him quickly and efficiently. The boy definitely moved like a seasoned soldier. He guessed both his time in the Watch and fighting a Northern war was responsible. 

“Far cry from a dragon, that one.” Sandor said of Jon's mount.

“I think I’ll enjoy staying closer to the ground today. Got used to these little ones on the Watch.” Jon smiled.

They heard Arya struggling to get her courser saddled, and by the time they got to the stall, Tom was there as well to help, but the Little Wolf wouldn’t hear of it.

“I have to learn to do it myself. She’s my horse. I should bloody well be able to saddle her.”

“You have to be able to reach her back to saddle her, and we have yet to see if you can even mount her without a staircase” Her brother teased.

“Is that why you chose to ride a pony today instead?” She shot back, and Sandor chuckled. He shook his head and left them to it. 

He went and led Stranger out to the yard. The horse was in a fair mood for once, and the best way to keep it fair was to get him out before all the others arrived and threw up a clamor.

Soon Jon joined him, and it was only a few moments more before the Little Wolf led out a saddled Hrazefi. He had no idea how in the hells she got the saddle on herself. She looked like a child leading an aurochs, but the smile on her face put one on his. Her brother's as well. It was clear he had a soft spot for his little sister.

Stranger began to fuss at the scent of the mare. “Bring her over here, girl. Slowly. Around to face him.”

She did, and the two horses took each other’s measure. 

“Now bring her around. Next to him. Not too close."

Stranger just eyed Hrazefi sideways, but did no more.

“I think he likes her.” She said.

“Aye. Hasn’t tried to bite her yet. Good sign.”

"Standing with those two, this little one does look a pony." Jon laughed. He was certainly more relaxed this morning than he had been at dinner last night.

Once the yard filled up, and everyone had readied their horses, they headed to the North gate and mounted up. Stranger was happy to follow the mare. Just like a man behind a pretty woman.

Arya managed to mount Hrazefi with a surprising ease. She threw a foot into the stirrup, and scrabbled up like one of those little monkeys from across the Narrow Sea the sailors came home with on their shoulders. 

She leaned forward to stroke the horse’s neck and turned to Sandor.

“I love her.”

“Good.”

“Perhaps we could breed her with Stranger? Their colors would make a striking foal.”

“Slow down girl, they just met. Now you’ve already got them matched, married, and with a babe on the way.”

Jonah joined her on his chestnut, along with the rest of the Umbers.

“You forget your bow and quiver Lord Clegane.” The smallest Umber boy piped up.

“I’m shit with a bow. I’m just along for the ride, unless we come across something I can stick a sword into. I’ll let you do the shooting lad.”

They ended up with about twenty five hunters all together, and once out beyond the gate, split up into smaller parties.

Jon, Arya, and Jonah came along with him. Soon, they were joined by a fifth and sixth member as Nymeria and Ghost came loping out of the Wolfswood. The white wolf now came and went as he pleased through the castle gates, with the Guards all but bowing to him and calling him “M’Lord Ghost”. Nymeria, though, usually stayed in the Wood with her pack and pups.

He watched Hrazefi, the garron, and the chestnut, but none seemed bothered by the wolves. Stanger was used to them by now, or he’d likely have already been thrown onto his arse.

As Arya and Jonah began to head off into the Wood after the wolves, he called out, “None of that shit with the wolf, girl. You fall off that horse you’ll break your neck rather than just end up with a hole in it.”

Jon turned to him. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know. As I figure, you can do it as well with your beast. You all could, couldn’t you?”

Jon looked at him a moment, then away towards the foursome with a sigh. 

“Don’t know for sure about Robb, or Sansa. But the rest of us, yes.”

“No, not Sansa. She lost her wolf too soon, didn’t she.”

“Yes.”

His chest tightened at the memory of the Little Bird’s cries for her sweet wolf pup.

“Does she know? About you and Arya?”

“No. Arya and I really haven’t spoke of it. We just know. If she hasn’t told Sansa, it’s because she doesn’t want to hurt her. Make her miss Lady.”

Seems there were a few things his Little Bird hadn’t been told of, in the name of sparing her feelings. 

He knew that was shit. 

‘A dog will die for you, but never lie to you.’ He had told her once.

And he wouldn’t lie to her. Had never before. He knew she wouldn't break from harsh truths. She would never break. 

Tyrion wanted to know how she had fallen in love with him. He didn’t know, but perhaps it was that. The truth. In a city of nothing but liars and lies, he told her the truth. Ugly. The way it was. May be it was that everyone else, including her own family, had once thought her too soft, too much the Lady, and in need of being protected from the shit parts of life. 

They knew she was strong now, but he knew it well before. 

One night he caught her up on the battlements, as everything around the Red Keep walls burned before the battle. He first saved her from falling, then had postured and proselytized to her like a fool. When he went so far as to put his blade to her throat and spoke of killers and killing, he watched as she never flinched. Just calmly took him in, as the cold steel rested under her ear. And it had unnerved him. He had shied from her questions before she had shied from his sword.

“Tell her. Both of you. She should know. She may miss the wolf, but she’d miss the truth more.”

He had Tyrion’s truth he still needed to tell her as well. The necklace. Tonight, he'd tell her. 

“You’re right. She should know.”

“Aye.” 

She should know it all.

*Sansa*

That morning, breakfast in the family solar was a quiet affair. It was just she and Bran until Tyrion arrived midway through the meal, looking terribly wine sick.

“I need you both to witness my oath. I swear by all Seven of the Gods I will never drink myself to drunkenness again.”

“I believe I’ve witnessed this oath before, my Lord.” Sansa smirked. “It never quite works out as you intend.”

“He’s made this oath thirty three times in the past.” Bran added with a small smile.

“Well. At least I’ve never been a quitter. At trying to quit things, that is. And it’s all about the intention, of which I have the very best.”

“That you do.” She said rising, giving both Tyrion and Bran quick kisses on the cheek. “I trust you two can keep one another entertained until the Queen makes it to breakfast? I have some things to see to this morning before our hunters return.”

“I don’t think the Queen will be coming to join us for breakfast. I stopped by her chambers on my way, and it seems she found some entertainment of her own last night.” Tyrion said, wagging his brows comically. 

“And how do you know this?”

“Once again, my superior powers of observation. I observed the two breakfast trays her chambermaid was entering with. I discreetly went on my way upon seeing that. You know I’m not one to interfere in matters of the heart. Or the flesh.”

So Jon spent the night with the Queen and remained for breakfast? She wouldn’t have thought. He had seemed fairly adamant that their relationship was no longer romantic on his part, and had even left the Hall long before the Queen last night. It was curious.

She looked to Bran to see if he had any comments on the subject, but he remained silent. Why was it that he was quiet when she wanted answers, and full of riddles when she wanted quiet? 

The two of them moved on from romantic gossip to discussing obscure Valayrian histories, so she picked up the bundle of clothing she had brought with her, wished them a good day, and made her way to the fourth floor of the Keep.

Annabelle was already in the solar, and was directing the placement of the large worktables being brought in.

“M’Lady." She greeted Sansa “It's going to be just perfect. Plenty of room, and so bright with these windows!”

“Wonderful. And I’ve brought you your first project. Lady Baratheon is riding to town today, and we should receive word back later of the other seamstresses, but until then, I have this I'd like your help with."

She left Annabelle with Arya’s black and grey leathers, and the details of how they were to be altered. Her plan was to have more made for her once all was up and running in Annabelle's solar. If her sister’s trip was to keep her away for many months, she would need several new outfits. Sansa would present them to her as a parting gift.

Once Trey finished his chamber duties, he joined her, and they spent the rest of the morning seeing to tasks about the castle. Two of which she was especially looking forward to.

When a page found them up with Maester Paul, seeing to reading and returning raven scrolls, it was word the stone mason she had requested had arrived from town. 

They met him in the South yard, by the empty kennels. His name was Jorge, and he was a burly man, almost as wide as he was tall, with forearms like two large hams. 

“Jorge, I’d like the Kennels to be gutted to the walls, with windows added for light. New larger stalls are to be built, along with several whelping boxes. Hire on as many additional men as you see fit. I'd also like the roof to be raised, vaulted, and timbered. No thatch. See to whatever carpenters you need to assist. I’ll give you full control of commissioning them.”

Jorge seemed pleased to take on the large job, but had a concern. "The windows, m'Lady, will you be wantin' glass? Tis not easy to come by."

"Have no worry about the glass. I'll see to it. Just provide Trey here with the dimensions needed once you get to that part."

“More dogs, my Lady?” Trey asked with concern on his face.

“Not like the last, Trey. These won’t be Ramsey’s beasts." 

Ramsey had every soul he let remain alive in Winterfell terrified, making it known that if he was displeased with their service, they would become first sport, and then a meal for his pack of savage dogs. When word had spread through the castle of what end he had met, and at whose command, a great many felt it was justice served. Sansa knew it was sweet revenge as well. But now she wished for new memories to replace the old.

"These will be pups raised here. Kind and loyal. Some trained to hunt, others to be of assistance to our Guards, and the rest for companionship. Every castle needs some sweet four-footed friends about, in the Halls, and lying before the hearths. I don’t know how many Direwolves are left in the North, but dogs we can manage.”

Sansa had noticed even back in Kings Landing that Sandor had an affinity for animals. She’d seen him stop many times to pat a dog at a tourney or about the yards, tend to Stranger, or calm another man’s horse. He was also one of the few men she never saw kick at one of the many cats in the Red Keep if it made it’s way too close, going so far as to pick up and relocate any that dared travel too close to Joffrey's Chambers. He knew what end they would meet otherwise. 

She smiled to herself at the memory of both Arya chasing cats through the Keep as part of her 'dancing lessons', and the occasional sight of the fearsome Hound moving down a corridor with a cat tucked under his arm.

She had the feeling a bright new kennel, and his own dogs to train, may be something he would enjoy. He spoke most proudly of the dogs that night he told her of his family history. It was one part of his past that didn’t seem to cause him pain.

“Lord Clegane’s house sigil is three dogs, isn’t it?” Trey asked.

“Yes, it is. On a field of gold autumn grass. And I intend for wolves and dogs to live together at Winterfell, and come to stand for family here in the North.”


	56. Closing a Circle

Chapter 56 – Closing a Circle

*Sandor*

By the time the hunting party crested the rise and Winterfell came into view, the sun was just beginning to set. What had Sansa called it, this time of day? The Gloaming.

He stopped Stranger.

The other hunters passed by him and continued on down the rise, headed back to the castle. 

The hunt had gone well. Arya and Jon chose to turn their aim towards quail, pheasant, and grouse, while the prize shot of the day had gone to the youngest Umber. Little shit had taken down one of the largest bucks he'd ever seen with one arrow to the heart. In all their five parties were returning with two deer, a boar, and fowl aplenty.

Stranger was decorated with a fringe of colorful birds hanging from his saddlebags, the Little Wolf having taken down so many, she ran out of room on Hrazefi. You could tell from her chatter she was pleased her bow skills hadn’t been diminished by her wound.

May be he’d need to have one of them give him a bit of training with the bow. He’d never had the patience for it when he was younger, preferring the clash of steel. With a sword, and his size and strength, he was unstoppable. It spent his energy and rage better than standing about with a bow and arrow. But watching the skill and sport it took for Jon and Arya to sight and shoot birds on wing had peaked his interest, and a good roast fowl was his favorite dinner, besides. 

Now as he and Stranger stood atop the rise, the others well past on their way to the gate, he looked at the castle in the half-light. 

He could identify each of the rounded towers now, circled with their crenellations; the Keep, the Library Tower, the Hall, the Broken Tower, and the deep green within the wall circling the Godswood. In the center of the deep green wood towered the red crown of the Heart Tree, a shocking spot of color. Like the sight of his Little Bird’s hair shining atop the grey stone battlements the day he rode through the gate with the Queen’s army.

Smoke rose from scores of hearths, ovens, the forge. The castle looked almost a living, breathing thing from this distance. Larger somehow than it seemed when he was within its walls. 

As the sun sank lower, the glow from a hundred windows separated themselves from the darkening stone.

Home. This was home now. Nowhere else had he ever felt the sentiment behind that word. Not at the square, squat, Clegane Keep, the jutting bulk of Casterly Rock, or the scores of tall spires that made up the Red Keep. But down within the circular grey stone towers that made up the sprawling castle of Winterfell, he now had a home. 

Circles. The realization hit him like a hammer. Looking down at Winterfell, it’s roofs were a collection of circles topping the circular stone structures within its circular walls. 

“She needs you now to close one circle around another.’ Her brother Bran had said. ‘Nothing is supposed to make sense until sense has finished being made.’

Well it all made a bit more sense now. Just a bit.

The Little Wolf had noticed his absence and turned her big white mare around, coming back up the rise.

“Are you coming, Clegane? Or are you going to sit out here all evening?” She brought Hrazefi up next to Stranger, and looked off in the direction Sandor was looking. “Ah. It is lovely from here, isn’t it? In this light.”

She sat there quietly, just looking at the castle herself.

“I thought for the longest time I’d never see it again. Or any of my family. Didn’t think I’d ever see you again either. Remember when it was just you and I? Alone in the world for all we knew. I’m glad we were wrong.”

“Aye, me too, Little Wolf.”

When they finally rode on, they did so both deep in their own thoughts.

After he saw Stranger settled in his stall, he went looking for Sansa. She wasn’t at dinner in the Hall, or in her rooms. Evvie said she hadn’t been back since she left this morning. He found Trey in his solar, readying it for the evening. 

“Do you know where Lady Stark is?”

“She’s not at dinner?”

“No. Already checked.”

“Then she may still be in the glass garden. We were working there this afternoon.”

That’s exactly where he found her. 

There wasn’t much glass left in the glass garden. Against the expansive back wall of stone, the mostly empty framework of a ceiling and three walls of glass panels extended. The frames faced West, so the room caught the very last of the setting sun, and it wasn’t dark here yet.

Within, he could tell she and Trey had worked hard cleaning up the damage.  
Large piles of shattered glass, broken pots, and soil had been swept into two corners. Various plants and flowering trees had been stood back up into any unbroken pots found, and refilled with whatever soil hadn’t already been spilled.

She sat on an overturned crate in the midst of it all, with an array of dead plants, sticks, and roots spread out in front of her, and glass jars from the kitchens next to her, containing he wasn’t sure what. 

Her hands and dress were dirty, and she had a smudge of soil across her forehead where she must have brushed away the hair that had come loose from her braid.

“The Little Bird’s been playing in the dirt I see.”

“Sandor! You’re back.” She rose and came to kiss him, keeping her dirty hands out to her sides. “The time got away from me. Trey and I worked here all afternoon, then I sent him off to see to his duties in the Keep. I started sorting what plants were left behind to see what seeds and roots I could perhaps save. It was so quiet and peaceful, I just kept at it.”

“You’re missing your dinner.”

“That’s alright. I’m not much in the mood for crowds tonight.”

She returned to her crate and plants. He grabbed another crate and overturned it, sitting next to her. 

“How was the hunt?”

“Good. Deer, boar, and countless fowl. Your brother and sister cleared the skies of them. We’ll be eating well for weeks.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Jon came along on the hunt? And left with you at dawn?”

“Aye. He’s about as fine a shot with a bow as your sister. All the game has been brought to the kitchens to be readied.”

“That’s wonderful. I only wish our wedding feast wasn’t also a farewell feast. The closer we get to your departure, the more I worry.”

“We’ll be just fine. Your little sister will keep me safe.” He jested. 

She took up a seed pod from some withered plant and pulled it apart, taking out the dried seeds and dropping them in one of the glass jars. He watched her in silence a few moments. 

May as well tell her now. They weren't likely to be disturbed here.

“Sansa, I need to speak to you about something.” He said, and she smiled and looked up at him.

“Of course, Sandor.” she said, wiping her hands together, then on her skirts, and giving him her attention. 

“Your brother Bran summoned me last night. He knew of something I had noticed, and bid me talk about it with you. Before we’re wed.”

“What is it?” She asked, now looking concerned at his serious tone.

He reached out, and slowly removed her silver circle necklace from around her throat, and held it in his palm. She said nothing, but looked at him in confusion. 

He looked at the necklace as he spoke.

“Bran spoke of a tradition here. Before the wedding you’re to visit your dead. In the crypts. But he said you haven’t been to see your father's place yet, or ever.”

She had gone still next to him, and her back stiffened. 

“I told him you must have a good reason if you hadn’t. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know what this necklace has to do with it yet, but I do know what it is.”

“What do you mean, ‘what it is'?”

“Give me your hand.”

She did, and he placed the circle on it.

“Look here,” he laid a finger on it, “where the silver has rubbed away. See that? The color in the metal? The way it ripples? It’s Valyrian Steel. The silver is just a coating. I noticed it the other day.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Tywin Lannister had your father’s sword melted down, and reforged into the swords he gave Joffrey and Jaime. That part you know. But when Tyrion learned of it, he went to see the blacksmith Tywin had brought over from Volantis to do the work. He knew there'd be leftover steel, so he had the blacksmith work it into this necklace for you. Had it slivered and strung.”

She had gone white, and he could see the hand that held the necklace begin to shake. He reached out and cupped her hand between his. 

“Do you understand now? This is a part of your father’s sword, Little Bird. Tyrion felt you should have it. Have a part of his legacy for yourself.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“You had just learned your mother and brother were killed at the Twins. He thought it might be an upset rather than a comfort while you grieved. But he still wanted you to have it. Before he could ever tell you the truth of it, Joffrey was poisoned, and you flew away.”

“No...” She whispered, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Then her whole face crumpled, and she was suddenly the scared little girl in the Red Keep again. 

She snatched her hand out from between his, and stood, letting the necklace fall to the ground. 

He rose to his feet as well. She balled her fists at her side and backed away from him. 

“I don’t want it. Why would he give it to ME? Why would Bran tell me it was good luck? He has to know. Tyrion knew. They all knew!”

“What are you talking about, girl? Knew what?”

She doubled over, as if in pain, and he heard her sob. When he grabbed her shoulders to right her, she wrenched from his grip, her eyes wild, and ran from the garden.

Shit.

She was nowhere in sight when he raced out into the yard. His first thought was the Godswood. She would run to the tree to seek comfort in her Old Gods, but she wasn’t there. It was no short trip back to the Keep, where her rooms were empty as well. The battlements atop the Keep were void of anyone but the Guard he and Jaime had now posted there.

Where the fuck did she go?

The family solar would be empty as well, with everyone at dinner. 

The library. Her brother Brandon usually skipped dining in the Hall to spend his evenings before the hearth in the library.

He ran.

The boy was in his usual seat.

“Tell me where she is! Go into your birds, or use your sight, or whatever the fuck it is you do to see everything. You told me I had to tell her, and now she’s run off. I’ve looked everywhere I can think. Find her!”

“She’s on the East Wall. It's where she and Theon jumped. Into the snow. To escape Ramsey.”

“Fucking hells.”

“She's not…”

But he was already gone.

***

He was out of breath by the time he climbed the East wall, and found her standing in a crenel, with her arms outstretched and her palms against the parapets to brace herself.

His stomach dropped and his blood turned to ice in his veins. He approached her slowly, as he would a spooked horse about to bolt. She was looking out over the field below, with her back to him.

Thoughts of trying to grab her were given up for fear of his not being quick enough. 

“Little Bird. Come down from there.” he said softly. 

She didn’t move, just hung her head and sobbed. He waited. After a bit she took a deep breath and spoke.

“It was me Sandor. It was all my fault. Because I was stupid, and selfish. I wanted to be a Princess. A Queen. And I killed them. I killed them all.”

“Who girl? Who did you kill?”

She didn’t answer him, and didn’t turn, but after a moment asked, “That day, on the bridge, with the heads. I wanted to die. I was ready to die. I was going to take Joffrey with me. But you stopped me. Why? Why didn’t you let me do it?”

He told her the truth.

“May be I should have. We all have to die some way, and that wouldn’t have been the worst way. Taking a shit King down with you. Would probably have gotten yourself a song. But I was selfish too. I saw what you meant to do. But I didn’t want you to die. I stopped you for myself. Not for you, not for Joffrey. For me.”

She sobbed again and shook her head. Still not turning around. Still staring out.

“You don’t understand. I told the Queen. Me. I went to her that morning and told her what my father was planning to do, to send Arya and I back to Winterfell, to break my betrothal to Joffrey. It’s why they didn’t believe him once the King died, called him a traitor. If it weren’t for me, he would never have been taken. Never have been killed. I begged for mercy for him, you saw, you were there. And I couldn’t even do that right. All of it happened because of me. I was so blind. I didn’t see what Joffrey was. And father’s sword. They took his head with his own sword. Why would I want any part of it?”

“Little Bird, you’re wrong. Turn around. Look at me.” His tone was harsh, and brooked no argument. 

When she finally turned and met his eyes, he started to breathe again. 

“Your brother Bran told me I was the one who needed to tell you of the necklace. I had no fucking idea why. But now I do. It had to be me, because I’m the only one who can tell you you’re wrong.”

“I…”

“Just listen, girl. You may have gone to Cersei that morning, but she already knew days before, from your own father. I was there. Joffrey and I had come back from Robert’s buggering hunt two days early, and went to see the Queen. I heard it all when she told Joffrey that Lord Eddard had sent for her. Had spoken to her of his plan to tell Robert lies, and poison the king's love for his own children and to remove the Lannisters from power. For revenge against what Jaime had done to him and his men. But he’d offered her the mercy of leaving the city with her children ahead of the King’s return. It was a shit story that only Joffrey could believe. I didn’t know the real story at the time, but still knew her version was shit. Knew the King was already a dead man too. Saw the way Lancel was pushing the wine on him. And once the King was dead your father would be next. It had nothing to do with you, Little Bird. Your father’s offer of mercy to the Queen is what killed him, but he would have lost his head either way. He was dead the day he accepted Robert’s offer of Hand.”

“She already knew…”

“She already knew.”

“And Tyrion…”

“Knew none of it until he returned to Kings Landing, and the war was well underway. He didn’t know Ice killed your father. He thought the necklace was just a way of giving you a piece of your family back.”

“But Joffrey, if I would have killed us both, at least I would have stopped the war. Saved Robb. Saved my mother. Saved Rickon.”

“No. Your mother and brother were told that the Lannisters held both you and Arya. They didn’t know Arya had gotten out of the city. Even with you dead, they would have fought on for her. And do you think the Lannisters would have let you murdering the King go unpunished? None of this is on you, girl. None of it.”

She lowered herself to sit on the crenel, and he exhaled. 

“I’m sorry I frightened you. I wasn’t going to jump. I just needed to remind myself that I once had the strength to. Jump to live, not jump to die.”

“Good.” 

He held out his hand and she took it, stood, and let him take her in his arms.

“All this time…I thought…” she sniffed. 

“Aye, you thought it was you. You were a child Sansa. You can’t blame yourself. You thought you loved a golden Prince, you learned. You thought life needed to be like the songs, you learned. You thought you weren’t strong, you learned. You did all you had to do to survive.”

“Sometimes I get so tired of being strong, Sandor.”

“I know. But it doesn’t mean you aren’t. I was strong, until a Little Bird broke me, and I found myself weeping on her bed when she offered me mercy. Now I’m stronger. And hopefully less awful than she once told me I was.”

She sniffed a laugh at that, and looked up at him with a small smile. His chest relaxed to see it. 

“I still don’t want it.”

“Then fuck it. It’s a piece of metal.”

“Bran said to keep it always.”

“But he didn’t say where you had to keep it, did he?"


	57. Vows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the unexpected hiatus! Life went and got crazy on me for a bit, but the dust has settled and I'm back to finish my little story. We still have lovers to unite, Queens to kill, and fates to be decided, all by my twisty little imagination. If you're still following along out there, you have my thanks and love 🤗

Chapter 57 – Vows

*Sansa*

When she woke on the morning of her wedding, tucked under Sandor's arm, curled up with her forehead against his side, her first thought was how very different this wedding day was from her last two. 

For one, she was already joined by way of the Old Gods to her groom, a man finally of her own choosing, with no one else having any say in the arrangement. And this time, she would marry before family, friends, and her own people. 

The only thing diminishing her joy was knowing he’d be leaving tomorrow morning, and flying off the very worst place in the world to help her sister kill the very worst woman in the world. 

But today, she would try not to think about that. Today was to be enjoyed. This was their day.

Sansa had spent the morning yesterday finalizing all the arrangements, and then calling on Trey and Milly to see that all was carried out. Trey was already proving to have an instinct for what needed to be done, and when. Milly had offered her assistance as well, wishing for the experience of running a feast, and Sansa was most thankful for their help. 

After the midday meal, she and Sandor had gone to find Bran. It was time she visited her father in the crypts. 

As a boy, Bran loved to go down into the crypts to look at all the statues of long-dead Kings and Lords of the North. Their stories and histories fascinated him even then. Now, he went down when he could to visit each one and go back in his mind, or however he did it, to actually see their histories play out. He had been working his way through them, and was now ready to descend to the lower level of the crypts to visit those even longer-dead.

Being confined to his chair with wheels made it more difficult to visit the crypts as often as he’d like, as he had to wait on a pair of servants to carry him and his chair down. But Sandor was strong enough to take both at once, so they all made the journey down together. 

Sandor delivered Bran to the lower level, and lit the wall torches for him, then returned up the damp old stairs to where Sansa stood before her father’s statue. 

She had placed the silver circle that had once been her favorite necklace around one of the guards of the statue’s iron version of Ice, and then lit the candles at the base of the carving. 

“I wonder what he would think of of us now. Of everything that’s come to pass.”

“He would be proud. The four of you left are survivors. Lord Eddard Stark was terrible at politics. Comes from being a good man. But he knew strength. He’d be happy to see his children manage both.”

“I remember the Tourney of the Hand. You unseated Ser Jaime, and I told father I knew you’d win. He looked at me as if I were mad. I never told him about the night before. I never told anyone. Then when you stepped out to save Ser Loras from Gregor the next day, and Loras proclaimed you the winner, I stood. I clapped and clapped. For both of you. You were like a hero from a song to me that day. Father turned and just stared up at me, the queerest look upon his face.”

“Your father didn’t like me much. But I understood. I didn’t like myself much either then.”

“No, he didn’t, but it was more than that. It’s hard to explain. But I know if he lived, he would have grown to respect the man you are now. He would have seen what I love in you."

“Aye, perhaps. No father can ever really love the man who takes his daughter, but I’m sure he would have tried. I admired him. Even then. Rare to meet a man who really does believe in honor, even when it means his own death.”

“He did everything he thought was right, and they killed him for it.”

“And now they’re all dead as well, Little Bird. And soon Cersei along with them. Not sure what happens once we die, but if the Gods are real, perhaps your father will receive the justice he’s due.”

They went to light candles before Rickon’s tomb, then at the empty tombs of her mother and Robb. Jon had commissioned statues of them as well, despite there being no bodies to lay behind them. She hoped their spirits were here anyway. 

Despite the sadness of her thoughts as she visited each one, she felt comforted for having come. 

When they heard Bran calling up to them from below, they descended to the lower level. He sat before the statue of some old Stark, a King by the look of it, one whose iron sword had long since rusted in the damp, and crumbled to dust at his stone feet.

“Look. I found him. This was King Jarrold Stark, first of his name. His Queen was a girl he fell in love with beyond the Wall. When they married, it almost cost him his crown, but he killed all those who opposed them rather than set her aside."

“Now there’s hard man for you.” Sandor chuckled. 

Bran looked up at him. “They were your great grandparents. Many generations back.”

“Sandor has the blood of a Stark?” she asked incredulously. 

“The blood of a Stark King.”

Sandor barked a laugh. “And you saw this? Somehow I’m a Clegane that descended from a Stark and a Wildling? I’m sure that’s an interesting tale.”

“You are. On your mother’s side. Daughter after daughter, down through the generations, married off further and further from the North.”

“You hear that girl? I’ve one royal little toe left full of a Stark King's blood." He laughed. 

“And another little toe of Wildling blood.” She reminded him.

“That’s Free Folk to you, Wardeness, I’ll not have you slighting my ancestors.” He said with smirk, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well, I always knew you had the North in you.”

“North, and North again.” Mused Bran, and Sansa turned to him, skin gooseprickled, remembering those same words from him weeks ago.

“Not like it matters now. I’m sure if you go back far enough, you’d find we’re all of shared blood somewhere along the line.” Sandor dismissed.

“He speaks the truth.” Bran said quietly. “Blood means both nothing and everything.”

“Not a bloody word of this to Tormund, you two. I’d never hear the end of it from that fool.” Sandor growled. 

“Tormund is far more clever than he seems. There is more book than cover to him. He’s a good man.” Bran said, staring off into the darkness beyond the glow of the torches.

“Aye, the mad fucker grows on you. And he kept Sansa safe with the Thenn. I owe him. Still don’t need to hear him yammering on about me being his kin.”

“Sandor likes Tormund quite a bit, he just won’t admit it.” Sansa smiled. 

“Bloody hells, you gingers are starting to sound alike. If you start carrying an axe and burping up ale I won’t be able to tell you apart soon.”

Bran laughed at that, and she feigned outrage. It was always a treat to see her brother smile.

“My Lord is so very funny, but enough about Tormund. Bran, I know it normally falls to the Maester to preside over a wedding, but in this case, we’d both like it very much if you would do us the honor. Not everyone can say they’ve been married by the Raven himself.”

"And keep this wedding up there in your head to replace the last. At least this one we'll have our clothes on for. Don't fancy trees and little brothers peeping at my naked arse."

Bran smiled again. “I will.”

Sansa sighed, then laughed. “Well that became awkward. Let’s say we go back up and rejoin the living, shall we?”

Dinner that night had been a gay affair, with much talk of the wedding and the feast tomorrow night. Her people knew not of the sortie departing the following morning and their plans to kill Cersei Lannister, but she could tell it was weighing on those who did.

After dinner, the Queen had summoned Arya, Jon, Sandor, Bran, and Tyrion to her private solar to discuss their plans.

Sansa took the opportunity to ask Milly and Annabelle up to her chambers, and called Evvie in as well.

Evvie helped her wrestle the large package out from underneath the gowns in her armoire. It was the same package Milly and Gendry had brought with them after they had wed in town and returned to Winterfell. 

They set the package on the bed, but before Sansa closed the armoire, Milly asked shyly, “My Lady, may I beg just a look at it? The gown? The one everyone in town was talking about?”

Everyone in town! Well, she shouldn’t be surprised. News, and more importantly gossip, traveled quickly, and those who lived in Winter Town heard and enjoyed it just as much as anyone else. More so if it involved their Lords and Ladies.

“Of course you can.”

She went to the hanger and pulled out the gown. Both Milly and Annabelle's eyes went wide. Sansa draped it over her dress form so they could get the full effect of the design and cut.

“Oh, m'Lady. It’s just stunning. I’d heard about it, and your… well. It’s truly lovely work.” Annabelle said.

Milly fingered the fabric and pulled out the skirt. “Thank the Gods you never opened up a shop my Lady. Would have put me right outta business!”

“You’re both too kind. It did turn out well, though. I’ve never stitched together a gown so quickly before. And Evvie gave me the most beautiful hair style that night.”

“How will you wear your hair for the wedding, m'Lady?” her chambermaid asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. But come, I asked you all here to see the gifts Lady Milly brought Lord Clegane and I.”

Sansa went to the bed and opened the package. Inside was the gown she had commissioned from Milly back that day she and Sandor had ridden to town, and below it, the gifts.

Sansa took the first gown from the box and set it aside, then lifted out her wedding gown.

Milly had told her that she began work on it the moment she had heard of Sansa and Sandor's betrothal. If not to be worn for the wedding, it was still a gown she wanted to make a gift of to her Lady. 

Sansa was so touched she wept when she first saw it. It was absolutely perfect. She wept again, and had grabbed Milly into an embrace when she saw that she had done the same for Sandor. Breeches, tunic, and jerkin of the finest cloth, simply but beautifully cut and embellished. At the very bottom of the box were the softest leather slippers for her, and boots for Sandor, a gift from the tanner and his wife.

Her people’s kindness and generosity was breathtaking. 

“Oh Lady Milly! It’s beautiful!” Annabelle exclaimed over the gown. Milly beamed. It really was exquisite work. Sansa would wear it proudly. They all stood for a bit admiring and discussing the detail with the eyes and hands of three seamstresses. 

Afterwards, she had Evvie bring Sandor’s new wedding garb down to Trey, to have hung in his chambers for tomorrow.

“Do you have your bride and groom cloaks, my Lady?” Milly asked.

“No. No cloaks." Both her guest's eyes widened at the vehemence in her tone. 

"I’ve already been given two cloaks in marriage, and they meant nothing. Only one cloak I received in love, years ago. It’s gone now, but the man who gave it to me will be standing before me tomorrow, and that means more to me than any cloak. But not to worry, I’ve planned something a bit different instead.” Sansa replied with a smile. 

***

Now her wedding day had arrived. As the birds chirped their early morning songs, and the sun began to light her bed chamber, she stretched and propped her head up on her arm to watch Sandor sleeping. 

Such a long and winding path to this day, she thought. So many lost along the way, but many others had been found as well. While the past would always have it’s place in her heart and mind, today was about the future, and she would do everything in her power to make it a future worthy of all that came before.

She brushed the hair back from his face, and ran a finger softly between his brows. By day there was a constant line of attention and concern there, but in sleep it was calmed and smoothed. She leaned over and kissed him there, and when she pulled back he was awake and looking at her.

“My Little Bird is up with the sun.”

“It’s my wedding day.”

“Fancy that. It’s mine too.”

He pulled her atop him, and she could feel him, already hard between her legs. He ran his hands up under her shift and his fingertips lightly over her stomach and up to her breasts. 

“There’s no rule against the groom having his bride before the wedding, is there?” He asked playfully as he moved his thumbs softly under the curves of her breasts.

“Oh but there is. It’s quite the well known rule.” she said, the touch of his fingers setting off the pulse of desire between her legs.

“That ship has sailed for us, girl. Your Old Gods have already ogled me taking my bride, and given us their blessing."

His hands moved around and grasped her hips, as she ran her hands over his chest, and down to the ridged plane of his stomach.

“This is true. We’re both bride and wife, groom and husband. It’s got to be a first.” 

“So bride wife, how does a proper Northern wedding work? I best ask now and not during.”

“Mmmmm…” she answered as he grasped the curve of her bottom, and she moved her hips over his. “It’s very simple. I’m presented, and you claim me. We make our vows…” He raised her shift and pulled it off over her head, “and it’s done.” Her last words came out a breathy whisper as he rose to take one nipple into his mouth, then moved his lips up her neck.

“I like it. No hours kneeling in a Sept fighting the urge to fall asleep from the Septon droning or wanting to pass out from the smell of the incense. But what are the words? This vow?” He asked as he pressed himself up against her.

“Anything at all... oooh... Whatever our hearts will have us say.” He had dipped his fingers beneath her small clothes. When he pulled the ribbon, she rose to remove them, then pulled his down and off, and returned to her position over him. She reached down between her legs to smooth her palm up his manhood, feel him, and when she closed her fingers around him he moaned in the back of his throat. 

But before she could lower herself onto him, he flipped her onto her back, and the warm hand under her back slid down to lift her hips to him.

“This vow. I’m not good with words, Little Bird.” 

His eyes burned into hers as she cradled the back of his head in her hands, and he eased himself into her so slowly she had to resist finding her pleasure in just the heat of his look.

He never took his eyes from hers as he moved within her, languidly, savoring every sensation until her back arched and she bit her lip at the intensity of the sweet tension. 

He was telling her. Telling her with his eyes and his body all that couldn’t be put into words during any ceremony, all that had passed between them that would never be known by anyone other than themselves, no matter how many stood in witness later. And her eyes and her body responded, and held him to her. Inside her. His grey eyes and her blue, never wavering from one another, again and again, even as their pleasure took them.

“All I know is that I want you with me, Little Bird. Always. Until the end of time.” he growled.

“Always, Sandor. Until the end of time.” she gasped.

It was her wedding day, and she now knew the words of their vows.


	58. Wedded

Chapter 58 - Wedded

*Sandor*

Of all the deeds it was said that Sandor Clegane, the infamous Hound, was capable of doing, taking a wife was never one of them. But today that’s exactly what he was to do. 

He and the Little Bird may have had their spontaneous tree wedding, and he claimed he needed no other, but if he had to be honest, he wanted to be able to call her his wife before King, Queen, or beggar, and have the fact unchallenged. 

‘Let no man put asunder'. Weren’t those the words he’d heard Septons seal noble marriages with, time and time again, as he stood in overwarm Septs guarding one Lannister or another? He wanted a bond with her that no man could put asunder. 

As he lay in bed with Sansa, the morning grown late, and both of them still naked and lazy after their lovemaking, he told her as much. 

She turned to face him, and rested a pale hand on his cheek. “By the end of this day, there will be no man or woman alive who can deny that we are man and wife for true.”

“But again, this vow. What shall you have me say? I don’t want to fuck it up, Little Bird.”

“I’ll give you my vow first, and I promise, you’ll know just what to say.”

“I have no house cloak for you.”

For some reason that brought tears to her eyes, and he panicked for a moment before she spoke.

“You cloaked me in the Throne Room years ago, Sandor. Then again the night of Blackwater. Do you remember?”

“I remember tearing off that shit white Kingsguard rag, and throwing it to the floor before I left. That’s all.”

“That Kingsguard rag shielded me from cruel eyes once, and when you left my room that night of Blackwater it shielded me again, you just didn’t see. I kept it. It was torn, bloody, and burnt, but it was all I had left of you. It gave me comfort to have it. When I fled the city, it pained me that it had to be left behind. But now, I need no other cloak, because I have you yourself.”

Fucking hells. No one in the Seven Kingdoms could strike him as speechless as this girl could at times. 

It took a moment for the tightness in his chest to pass, and he just looked at her and smoothed her hair back until his tongue loosened again. 

“Then no cloaks.”

“No cloaks.” 

She kissed him in that deep, slow way he liked so well, and he wondered if they didn’t have enough time for another tumble.

But the Gods only give a man so much, and no sooner was the thought formed, then it was dashed from him by a soft knock at the bedchamber door.

“Your breakfast is without, m'Lady. Shall I bring up water for your bath now, or wait a bit?"

Before Sansa could answer he smiled and put a finger to her lips. He got up, pulling on the small clothes that had been discarded earlier, and pulled open the door.

“And when will you be giving me my bath?”

Poor Evvie's eyes went big as platters and she let out a squeak.

He laughed. “Calm yourself girl, I jape. No need to run for the poker. Give me a few moments to dress and I’ll be taking my leave so you can see to your Lady.”

That was fun.

With no need for the hours of fussing and dressing Sansa would be busy with, he had what was left of the morning and the afternoon to fill. If he sat idle, his nerves would get the better of him.

He fell back to the routine of dressing in his rooms, snatching a bit of leftover breakfast from the kitchens, and headed to see Stranger in the stables.

Before he could make it across the yard, he heard his name called. He turned to see Tormund striding his way. The ginger had shed several layers of fur as the weather had warmed, and was beginning to look more like a man these days than a crazed bear.

“Clegane! It’s your wedding day, you lucky fucker!”

He clapped Sandor on the shoulder and gave it a shake. 

Before Sandor could tell him to piss off, Tormund looked around, then leaned close and hissed, “Clegane, I need to speak to you. Away from any long ears. I have a problem. A big one.”

He let out a deep sigh, and tried to summon what patience he could. He owed this man his Little Bird’s life, and would be the Lord of Winterfell by nightfall, so he’d better get used to listening to the whinging of others, he reminded himself. “Fine. Follow me.”

Tom and the other lads gave them a warm greeting as they entered the stables. Sandor led Tormund to the empty room he had taken in the bunkhouse when he had first arrived at Winterfell. Neither of the new stable boys had claimed it, as it was far smaller than the others. 

Once he had closed the door behind them, Tormund set right in. 

“I fucked the Queen, Clegane.”

“Are you drunk, fool? It’s not even midday.”

“No. But I was piss drunk the night I asked the little Queen to dance. May be she was too. But she was sober as a stake when she came knocking at my door later that night.”

“The dragon Queen came to your door? What the bloody hells for?”

“I wondered the same when I opened it and saw her there. I asked her if she was lost. She said she knew exactly where she was, and walked right into my room.”

“So what did she want?”

“She wanted me to close the door, not speak a word, and fuck her. In that order. In those very words.”

“At least she got one thing right.” He laughed. 

“Its no laughing matter Clegane! I tell it true. I swear by all the Old Gods, I tell it true! She even took her clothes right off, while I just stood there pissing myself.”

“Alright. Enough. I believe you. So why are you telling me?”

“Because I fucked her! I fucked her every which way and then some. Like a minx, she was, that little bit of a thing. I have to say, I thought she’d wear my cock to a nub before she was done. Then she just left me lying there.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a problem to me. Beautiful Queen wants to ride you like a racehorse for a night, what of it? I’m sure she came to her senses by morning.”

“You don’t understand. Jon Snow is like a brother to me. But how do you say no to a naked Queen? He’ll have my head for this, and right he should. What am I going to do?”

“As far as I see it, you’ll tell Jon Snow, and if you walk away with your cock and your head still attached, you’ll call it good luck and forget it ever happened.”

“And let’s just say she came to my room again last night?”

“Oh Bloody fucking hells.”

“And she didn’t just want to fuck last night. She wanted to talk. We’d fuck, then talk. You know how I like to talk, AND fuck. But as scared as I am of what Snow will do, I’m even more frightened of the little Queen.”

He laughed again. “Why, she threaten to feed you to her dragons once she was done with you?”

“No. It’s not that. Its… well… I like it, Clegane. I like her. The talking…”

“And the fucking. I get it.” He sighed. He definitely got it. Was he himself not about to marry Sansa Stark? How could he not believe the little Queen might actually like the ginger idiot? Was her last husband not said to be a big bloody savage of a man?

“Just tell Snow. And you didn’t hear it from me, but I suspect he won’t be all that upset. Seems his affair with the dragon Queen has cooled a bit. Seems he might be turning his attentions elsewhere.”

“You mean Val. Yes. Yes! I’ve seen them together. You might just be right Clegane!” He slapped him on the back.

The Wildling’s smile had grown big enough to ride a wagon through. Bloody idiot. 

Sandor knew just how he felt. 

Once Tormund left him, he spent what was left of the morning with Stranger. The work and the conversation soothed his nerves. He spoke to the horse of his wedding, and his journey back to Kings Landing tomorrow morning. 

“I don’t know how long this shit in the Capitol will take, boy. But Tom will take good care of you. Get you out. The Little Bird said she’d come to visit with you as well. You just make sure you’re a gentleman when she does. I told her you’re a proper listener, and she might just need that while I’m away.”

He knew it was probably more his tone than his words Stranger understood, but it was a comfort nonetheless when he bumped his large black head into Sandor’s chest. 

After he’d washed up, his stomach reminded him another meal was in order. 

He made his way back across the yard towards the Hall, but again someone was calling out to him. It was Tyrion coming his way this time, and he had somehow collected a still-smiling Tormund, Jaime, and Gendry. 

“Clegane! Glad to see you’re free. We have a little something planned. A bit of a bachelor party for the groom.”

“Don’t want any bachelor party, Lannister.”

“Of course you don’t, which is exactly why you need one. And look,” he turned and pointed to Gendry and the large basket he was carrying, “our newest Baratheon brings good food and even better wine. You can’t say no to that, and I think you'll enjoy the spot I've chosen.”

Which is how he found himself naked and half drunk in the Godswood pool, along with a naked and half drunk dwarf, a ginger idiot, a blacksmith, and a one-handed knight. His own half of a face fit right in with this motley lot. But a full stomach and several cups of good red wine had finally settled his nerves, and he found himself enjoying his company, even the dwarf, who was as talkative as ever.

“Who would think a day would come when I’d be sitting naked as a babe in a pool in the middle of the North, with a Wildling, Robert’s bastard, and my one handed brother, celebrating the marriage of the Hound to my ex-wife Sansa Stark. Life is absolutely fascinating at times."

“Free Man.” Tormund corrected. 

“Of course. Of course. Free Man. And as the smallest member of this party, I’m pleased to note that I DON’T have the smallest member of this party. That would be you, my golden brother.”

“I beg your pardon, but I have to strongly disagree.” Jaime replied. 

“Perhaps we should take measure and settle this? In my favor of course, but you’re welcome to embarrass yourself trying to prove otherwise.” Tyrion said, making a move to climb drunkenly out of the pool, only to fall back in with a splash, dropping his cup of wine in with him.

Even Sandor couldn’t help laughing. 

“Is this what you Southern Lords do, sit around together comparing cocks? You kneelers are odd. And have small cocks. Har!!”

“Fucking hells. Bad enough we’re all naked and drunk, can we stop talking about cocks already?” Sandor sighed.

“Says the giant man with the giant cock.” Tyrion noted, attempting to fill his cup again.

“Should we talk about pussy then?” Tormund offered enthusiastically.

“You’d do better to keep your mouth shut.” Sandor warned him with a look.

“Oh, but let’s!” The dwarf exclaimed. “That’s a much better subject. I’d like to hear all about what my brother finds after climbing his warrior lady’s loins. Warms my heart that we have something in common in the bed chamber for once.”

“You’ll hear nothing of the sort, little brother. A gentleman doesn’t speak of his lady in that manner.” Jaime replied. 

“Oooh, now he’s a gentleman. My pardons. Then perhaps we can get Gendry to share the secrets of what he does to his new bride that has her screaming into the night?” Tyrion asked with a smirk. 

“You heard it too?” Sandor asked. “Had to move up to Sansa’s room to get any sleep.”

“Really? And sleep is what you found waiting for you under her covers?” Tyrion asked.

Gendry was flushed redder than the wine. “Milly’s not THAT loud.”

“The whole Keep hears it. Had Brienne up with her sword in her hands the first night. Tell us my good lad, what IS it you’re doing? Perhaps we can learn how to make our ladies scream so as well?” Jaime teased.

“Well you see, I spoke to Poderick one night over a cup, and he told me to… “

“Oh, yes, Poderick Payne. The legend of Kings Landing himself. The only man to get the whores to pay HIM. He tells you, a virtual stranger, his pillow tricks over a cup, and it took me nearly a year to get the details.” Tyrion complained.

“So what did he do to the whores?” Tormund sat up and asked, suddenly attentive. 

“Ask Clegane, he knows. He was drinking with us that night. A rumor even made its way down to the forge about our new Lord of Winterfell, and a certain Lady he had screaming himself in a candle closet.” Gendry smirked.

“Another word about that and you’ll be gumming your meal tonight boy.”

“Clegane! The scandal!” Tyrion laughed.

“Did I tell you all about the time I fucked a bear?” Tormund interjected. 

“Oh will you bloody well shut up about the fucking bear already.” Sandor growled. 

And so it went on, in the manner typical of drunk men gathered in any number, with no ladies present. It went on that is, until Trey finally found the master he had been seeking throughout the castle.

“My Lord!” Trey interrupted, coming to the edge of the pool. “Its time you were dressed! And guests will begin arriving in this very spot within the hour!” 

In an instant the party turned from lounging, drunken men, to suddenly sober men, rushing, splashing and throwing the one bar of soap Gendry had been clever enough to bring along back and forth amongst themselves. 

Trey rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently. The lad was certainly growing right into his new role.

Back in his rooms, he changed from the damp clothes he had thrown on in the Goodswood, into the new set Milly had made him as a wedding gift.

Once he had knotted his damp hair and fastened his jerkin, he strapped on his sword, and in a moment of madness, stepped before the long glass against the wall that he usually avoided. 

The man staring back at him was both the same, and all together different.

He took in the fine clothes in black, slate, and grey, stitched with care by Milly. Fine boots so soft and just his size, a gift from the old tanner couple. The new sword hammered and tempered with exceptional skill, just for him, by Gendry. The pommel, a Hound and his Wolves, designed by the Little Wolf herself, to mark him one of their pack. The knot in his hair, and the smile on his ruined face, from Sansa, the girl who snuck into his heart and never left it. The girl who was now the woman who somehow loved him, and had given him a reason to live, and the chance for a life worth living.

He shook his head and dashed at the tears that suddenly sprung from his eyes, swallowed the lump in his throat down. Wouldn’t do to fall apart now. He’d just have to get used to being the luckiest man in the world.

Quiet as a cat, the Little Wolf herself appeared in the glass at his elbow. 

“I thought it was only the maidens that wept on their wedding days?”

“Shut up, girl. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your sister?”

“She has Milly, Annabelle, and Evvie fussing over her. Even the Queen came by her chambers, and Jon is waiting to escort her to the Godswood. You, my Good Brother, have the honor of my escort. Or would you like me to summon your drinking partners instead?” she smirked. 

“Gods no. I’m actually glad it’s you.”

“Well now, I may just shed some tears myself at that.”

“Enough out of you. Escort me then, you little shit.”

She smiled up at him. “I’m glad it’s you too, Clegane. Now let’s go marry you off.”

***

The Godswood was so full of people, he was sure not a soul was left anywhere else in the castle. He barely heard the greetings and well-wishes as Arya led him through the crowd, until Mathilde, his little old baker, grabbed his hand. When he stopped and turned to her, she beamed up a smile and gave his hand a pat.

“What no towel to swat at me with?” he asked her.

“Not today m’Lord, but I’ll run back and get it if you like.”

He was deposited before the old Weirwood tree, now almost as familiar a face as those of the friends he saw smiling out from the crowd at him. 

Arya then wheeled Bran up next to the tree, and remained standing at his side. 

The sun was almost fully set, and the flickering torches placed about made the wood seem to dance around them, and the pool sparkle. 

Where he stood beneath the tree’s red canopy, the torchlight rose up against the glossy red leaves, and fell back down around them in a warm glow.

When the crowd began to murmur and part, he knew Sansa had arrived. He hooked his thumbs into his sword belt to keep his hands from shaking. 

When she stepped into view on her brother Jon’s arm, Sandor took a deep breath and drew on all his years of standing in court, an impassive statue behind Queens and Kings. It was either that or drop to his knees and weep for the blessing walking towards him.

Seven save him, she was beautiful. 

His Little Bird wore a sleek dress of the palest dove, and the fabric took in the light like the skin of a pearl. It left her collarbones and shoulders bare, with long sleeves that hugged her graceful arms almost to her fingers. Her throat was bare as well, and the only decoration she wore was the fire of her hair, long and loose, waving down her back. He was so mesmerized he almost missed the hem, stitched with shimmering red weirwood leaves that blended in with those she walked on now, making her look as if she were a goddess sprung right up from the woods floor itself.

Thankfully everyone was watching her and not him, because the combination of her smile, and the tears of joy brimming in those pale blue eyes holding his, almost undid him.

“Keep it together, you bloody aurochs.” The Little Wolf hissed. 

Well, almost everyone was watching Sansa. 

The Little Wolf knew him too well to let him navigate this moment unattended. 

Once Jon had led Sansa to the edge of the tree’s canopy, Bran spoke.

“Who comes before the Heart Tree to be wed on this night?”

Jon answered him, and Sandor heard the emotion in his voice. 

“The Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell.”

“Who presents this woman?”

“Lord Jon Snow of Winterfell, brother to the Lady Stark.” 

Sansa turned her smile to Jon, and placed her hand over the arm that held her. She gave it a squeeze, and when her brother looked over at her, Sandor could see the tears in his eyes as well. 

He heard the Little Wolf sniff once, but when he looked she was already studying her feet intently. He smiled to himself. 

“Who comes before the Heart Tree to receive this woman?”

Having no idea how he was even able to form words, he spoke.

“I, Lord Sandor Clegane, of Clegane Keep.”

With that said, Jon brought her to him, and she placed her hands in his.

He fought down the urge to kiss her and tell her she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. But he had to wait. He could only hope she saw it in his eyes.

Bran went on. “Do you, Sansa Stark, take this man for your husband?”

She smiled up at him and squeezed his hands.

“I do. Always, Sandor, until the end of time.”

Her words sent the lump back to his throat. 

“Do you, Sandor Clegane, take this woman for your wife?”

His voice came out in a gravel of emotion. 

“I do. Always, Sansa, until the end of time.”

“Then the Old Gods recognize you as man and wife, from this day, until the end of days.” Bran announced.

He was more than ready to kiss his bride, but the boy went on.

“There was a tradition amongst the First Men, when Heart Trees filled our lands, a tradition long forgotten by most, but not by all. A new bride and her groom circled each other in the blessing of the Old Gods, as a symbol of their union.”

Bran held up a small box, and opened the hinge. Inside were two simple rings. The Little Wolf took it from him, and came to stand before them.

Sansa took the larger of the two rings from the box, and placed it on Sandor’s third finger. He stared down at it. It was of the smoothest, deepest red wood, veined with an even darker red, and polished to a shine. Weirwood. 

“Ahem.” 

Arya called his attention from his hand back to the box, and he took the cue, removing the other ring and placing it on Sansa’s third finger.

“The First Men believed that within these circles you are bound and blessed, Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane, in the Old Ways, in both this life and the next.” Bran finished. 

“Clever Bird.” He whispered to her, and she smiled. 

When the boy said nothing further, he turned to him.

“Can I kiss her now?”

Everyone in attendance began to laugh, clap, and whistle.

“By all means.” Bran smiled. 

“Funny man.” Sansa whispered to him, a moment before he picked her up and kissed her. 

His wife.


	59. Bedded

Chapter 59 – Bedded 

*Sansa*

The wedding feast was going into its fourth hour. The Hall was loud and warm, filled with music, dancing, and drinking. 

The venison and fowl served at dinner from the hunt was prepared sumptuously, and was a treat for everyone after the more austere meals of the past few months. 

Milly and Trey had done an excellent job overseeing everything, and were still both flitting about, two proud hens tending their celebrating flock. Gendry just looked relieved at not having to dance.

The best part of the evening for her was watching Sandor. He looked so very handsome, but it was more than the fine clothes he wore. He looked happy. 

"Well my Lady, you've gone and done it now. You've positively broken one of the most frightening men in Westeros. What's to be done with him now? He's useless. No growling and scowling. It's unnatural." Tyrion teased.

"Perhaps you should go tell him this. See what he thinks of your observation." She replied 

"No, I still value all of my appendages too much to test my theory. I've been known to be wrong from time to time."

"I'm going to miss you when you leave tomorrow. I don't expect you'll have much time to come visit once you're helping to rule the Seven Kingdoms and run your new brothels. Although I'll expect to hear scandalous stories of the Lord of Tits and Wine from my Northern Guard when they march this way."

"I'm touched my Lady. I'll miss you as well. And I'll actually miss the North. You people aren't quite as frozen and cold as I was led to believe. And have no fear, I'll not neglect our arrangement. You'll have your Guard. A Lannister always pays his debts, and I owe you my life. Jaime's as well."

"I worry how he'll react, once his sister is either taken prisoner or killed. I know what he's said, what he's pledged, but once it becomes real its altogether different."

"True, but I believe he sees what I see. The woman sitting in the Red Keep now is no longer the woman who was our sister. As awful as even that was. That woman died years ago. But enough worry my Lady, it's your wedding feast! Go enjoy it. Go dance with you're frighteningly content new husband."

So she did. 

Every time she and Sandor broke from dancing, they turned around to find someone else come to offer their congratulations or toast to their health and happiness. 

“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you be so gracious for so long before.” She teased him as they danced a slow ballad.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been so happy before, Little Bird. Turns out it’s easier to be gracious when you’ve got everything you could ever want in the world.”

“Everything?”

He kissed her. “Everything.”

“I wish none of you were leaving in the morning. Now that the time’s come, I’m terrified. You, Jon, Arya. More than half my family going back to the most dangerous place in the world. If anything were to happen to any of you…”

“Aye. It’s mad and dangerous. But if it works it will spare the blood of more than half the city. And if I have to go off to do something mad and dangerous, your sister is who I’d want to do it with. She may even let me live through it this time.”

Sansa sighed. She would try not to worry. Tyrion was right, tonight was for celebration, not fear. Fear wouldn't stop anything anyway. And was this any worse than what they had survived already?

She looked around the Hall, and it made her smile. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. 

Arya didn’t dance, but was sitting on Jonah’s lap, arm thrown around his shoulder. Beside them at the table were Jaime and Brienne, Poderick and Gendry, and Tyrion had joined them as well. All were drinking and laughing.

Odd was the sight of the Queen and Jon dancing happily, just not with each other.

Jon held Val rather closely as they danced. That struck her as a bit risky, all things considered. Then there was the Queen, smiling up at a fairly well groomed, and considerably better dressed Tormund.

“Sandor, look, the Queen is dancing with Tormund again. Whatever is going on, I wonder?”

“Ah. About that.”

“What ‘about that'?

“Turns out the little Queen has taken a fancy to Tormund. More than just a fancy, you could say. And I’m guessing your brother isn’t too broken up over it, or he and the Wildling girl wouldn’t be pressed quite so close.”

“The Queen and Tormund? He told you of this?”

“He did. More than I wanted to hear. Much more.”

“How very interesting. I can’t say that I’m surprised, though.”

“No?”

“No. From what I know of her past, and from our conversation, I gathered she prefers her men large and rough. Jon was an exception.”

“Large and rough. Well then, seems I could have held out for a Queen. Why’d I go and settle for just a Wardeness?”

Sansa quirked her brow at him. “I’m not exactly sure I like funny Sandor.”

He threw his head back and laughed, then picked her up and kissed her neck until she was laughing as well.

When he set her back down she looked over towards Tormund again, and squinted. “Is he wearing your clothes, Sandor?”

“Aye. I sent Trey to him before the ceremony with a pair of my new breeches and a tunic. But I had nothing to do with the rest of the furry shit he has on.”

“That was very kind of you. And you two are of a size. He looks nice.”

When they returned to the High Table, they were joined by the others, as it was time for the cake to be served. As much as she loved her sweets, she was getting anxious to retire with her husband; it was their last night together for who knew how long, and she didn’t want to waste a moment of it.

Before she could take a bite of her cake, Jon stood and rang his goblet for the Hall’s attention. It took a few moments for the boisterous crowd to quiet, but once they did, he raised his goblet and spoke.

“I like to offer a toast to my sister Sansa on her wedding day. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful bride, nor a happier one. For that I’d like to offer my thanks and my welcome to my new good brother, Sandor. With so many marriages made by politics, it’s a rare thing to see one made by love. So we drink now to your happiness today and every day, Sansa and Sandor.”

As the Hall rang with cheers and the banging of cups, Jon leaned down to give her a kiss, and tears threatened her once again today. 

The tears were replaced with shock as on her other side, Sandor stood. 

The Hall quieted quickly. They knew a rare sight when they saw it.

“I’m not one for speeches, but apparently I’ve had enough wine that I’m giving one. Never thought I’d find myself back here, in the North. Never thought I’d fight dead men. Or marry the most beautiful woman in Westeros. But I did. And I’m bloody thankful. You’re good people, you Northerners, Free folk. You gave more than a few of us a second chance. So I’m proud to join you. To call the North my home. Alright. That’s it. Drink up.”

There was no restraining her tears after that. 

She stood up next to him, took his face in her hands, and kissed him there before the whole Hall. The banging of the cups was deafening, along with the cheers of “Stark!”, “Clegane!”, “Winterfell!”, and “To the North!”

Her husband may make the politician yet.

And as if reading her mind, he took this moment when no one would dare object to sweep her up off her feet and carry her out of the Hall. This brought even louder and much bawdier cheers.

As the doors closed behind them, and he made for the Keep, she kissed him again.  
“That was exceptionally well done, my Lord.”

“Any good fighter knows an opportunity for escape when he sees it, my Lady. And I’ve been waiting to have you to myself since the moment you stepped into the Godswood. Didn’t feel like waiting any longer.”

When they reached the third floor of the Keep, he set her down, and she took his hand.

“Follow me.” She told him.

“Last time I followed you we ended up in a candle closet. Not that I’m complaining.”

“No closet tonight.”

Sansa led him past her chamber door, and to the end of the corridor, before a large set of double doors. 

“What’s in there, Little Bird?”

“The Lord and Lady of Winterfell’s chambers. Our chambers now. None of us had felt right using them before, but it’s time to move past the past, and toward the future. So I had the chambers cleaned and refurnished for us.”

“Just tell me you brought the big chairs along.”

She laughed. “Oh yes, I couldn’t imagine being without them now.”

They entered, and she watched him as he took in the room. Evvie and Trey had worked with the other servants to replace the rugs, curtains and hangings, most of the furniture, and wrestle in a new featherbed and linens to top the massive four posted bed frame.

“That’s the largest bed I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen the King’s bed. How’s a man ever to want to get out of it?”

“It’s over a century old. My great great grandfather had it commissioned when he was Lord of Winterfell.”

“Smart man. That’s how you spend coin well.”

He had come up behind her and gathered her hair around one fist, gently pulling her head to the side to expose her neck. When his kisses reached down to the little knobs of her spine, he released her hair and began slowly unlacing her gown. 

She could tell he was taking his time and working gently at the ribbons, and as the fabric gave way, he bent his head to kiss her back. Her scars. Just like the first time. When he had reached her waist he ran his hands under the gown and lightly up her sides, around to hold her breasts, and returned his lips to her neck.

His slow pace was as passionate as the times they had rushed and ripped to shed their clothes. 

He then began to peel one sleeve down her arm, then the other. When he slid the gown down over her hips she stepped out of it, watching over her shoulder as he picked it up and gently tossed it onto a chair.

He noticed her watching. “It’s your wedding dress. Too pretty to squash up on the floor.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and turned to him, now sliding her small clothes down her legs as he watched. “Come, your turn.” She said, holding a hand out to him. He took it, but came no further, holding her at arm’s length. 

“Wait. Just let me look at you a moment.” He sighed. “Elder Brother always said to take life in moments. Grit your teeth and fight through the bad ones, stop and savor the good ones, and never forget to commit the very best of them to memory. Because it’s those that you get the fewest of.”

“He wasn’t wrong.”

“He was. You’ve already given me more of them than one man deserves.”

When he finally let her draw him close, she unfastened his jerkin, slipping it off, and lifted his tunic, kissing in turn at his scars as she revealed them. Higher and higher up she kissed until he pulled the tunic off over his head, and she was on her toes to kiss the muscled cords of his neck, and her fingers tugged at his laces.

She pulled his lips to hers, and slipped her hand below the waist of his loosened breeches and small clothes, running her palm up the hard length pressed to his stomach, feeling him grow even harder under her touch. 

With his growl, the restraint of their leisurely pace broke. 

Sandor picked her up and tossed her into the middle of the expansive bed, never taking his eyes from hers as he removed and flung the rest of his clothes aside. 

“Good thing this bed is so large, girl. I mean for us to use every inch of it before the sun comes up.”

“You’ll need SOME sleep before you leave in the morning.”

“Fuck sleep. My wife is what I need.”

Sansa scooted back to make room for him as he crawled across the bed towards her, but he grabbed her ankles and she laughed as he pulled her towards him. 

Her laughter was replaced immediately by a gasp as he lowered his face between her legs. 

He didn’t stop moving his lips and tongue over her until her back was arched in pleasure, and her hands held fistfuls of his hair. 

“OH GODS... OH… GODS…”

When he finally rose and took her, she was already entering the throes of her pleasure, and it wasn’t long before he joined her. 

She clung to him afterwards as her breaths began to come slower, and he was careful not to crush her under him. She realized her nails were still dug into his back, and she relaxed her hands and smoothed them over the angry marks she had surely left.

After a bit he lifted himself off, and as he slid from her, she felt the immediate loss, and with it, a shiver of premonition. He lay at her side, and propped himself up on an elbow, brushing the stray hair out of her face. 

“You’re all a-prickle.”

“Just a chill. Let me pour us some wine, and we’ll sit under our new covers and toast our new bed.”

“I thought we just did.” He smiled, as she got up and went to the armoire for a robe.  
She slipped it on, and went to the table to pour the wine. 

Sandor got into bed and stretched himself out. “Look at that. My feet don’t even hang off the end, and my head’s not banging the boards.”

Sansa had a flash of memory. Her mother and father in this room, in this bed, she and Arya little girls, bouncing around them in their night shifts. She was pleased that the memory brought her more happiness than sadness. 

She handed Sandor his wine, and climbed under the covers. He tapped his new ring against the goblet.

“These were clever, Little Bird. Where did you get the idea?”

“I take no credit. Bran brought them to me shortly after we announced our betrothal. He said he had them carved from a branch of our Heart Tree, and told me of the old tradition. I loved the idea.”

“I’ll have to get used to a ring on my hand, but I like it as well. I’ve grown rather fond of that tree.”

She looked down at her own Weirwood ring, and spun it around with her thumb. Again she had a shiver of premonition, but this time it was accompanied by another flash of memory.

But it couldn’t be a memory, because it had never happened. 

It was the Red Keep, the Serpentine stair, covered in blood, the sounds of clashing swords, and Sandor’s voice bellowing to Arya. Screaming for her to run. Then it was Arya, sitting on the floor of the Throne Room before the steps to the Iron Throne itself, bloodied and laughing as if she were mad, and the cries of dragons and the tolling of the Red Keep's bells filled the air.

The vision was there and then gone in the blink of an eye. Before she could even turn to Sandor and tell him what had just happened, there was a pounding on the double doors of their chambers.

“Sansa, Sandor, open up! There’s been a raven! Open up!” her sister yelled from the other side of the door. 

She jumped from the bed as Sandor rose and pulled on his small clothes.

“Well there you have it, this is how the Little Wolf dies. I kill her on the eve of my wedding.” He growled. 

When he opened the doors Arya burst in. “We leave for Kings Landing now Clegane.”

“What’s happened? What of the raven?” Sans asked, her heart in her throat. 

“Luckily Maester Paul isn’t one for late nights. He retired from the feast early, and there was a raven waiting for him back in his chambers. From House Hayford. Apparently they had uninvited guests demanding a night’s stay. Lannister soldiers retuning South to Kings Landing with word of a battle at Winterfell and the death of a Kingsguard. Lucky as well that the Hayford’s are more curious than cautious, and sent a raven to Winterfell immediately to inquire of the battle.”

“So there were more of them here then, and still could be.” Sandor growled. “And House Hayford’s not two days ride from the Capitol. Bird probably took one of them to get here.”

“Which means we leave now and beat them to Cersei. Dragons are faster than ravens.”

“Shit. Where are the others?”

“Getting ready. We meet in the West field.”

Sansa fought down the feeling of panic. The odd vision still burned behind her eyes, but there was no good that could come of her speaking of it now. She didn’t even know what it meant.

Arya looked between her and Sandor with a smile. “It’s time to go kill a Queen.”


	60. Nothing

Chapter 60 – Nothing

*Sansa*

She asked Arya to find Trey on her way back, and send him to their chambers to help Sandor prepare to leave. 

“I can put on my own armor, Little Bird. Been doing it by myself my whole life.” He said, pulling clothes from the armoire she had his things moved to.

What she couldn't tell him is that she needed Trey here. Needed someone here to force her into her role of the calm, controlled Lady Stark. Otherwise her emotions might get the best of her.

He pulled out the breeches of thicker fabric, the more rough-spun tunic, and his old leather jerkin. She had almost had it thrown out, but it was the one he was reaching for now. He saw her eying it.

“Won’t do to look like I’ve been having myself too good a time up North. Cersie will want to see her Dog dragged back with his tail between his legs."

Sansa dressed as well, and threw on a light cloak. A knock at the door came soon after, and she ushered Trey in. 

“His armor, please, Trey. If you would.” She pointed to a chest in the solar, and the boy retrieved Sandor’s mail, armor, and sword. 

“Only the mail, gorget, and gauntlets, boy. The rest won’t do any good anyway if we’re found out. May as well travel light.”

Once he was dressed and armored, he threw his coin purse and a change of clothes into a leather satchel he then strapped around his chest.

“I'll stash it somewhere. Don’t know if your sister and I will be flying or riding back.” He told her, when she questioned the extra clothes. 

She hadn’t even thought that they may need to ride back. That would take weeks. But she said nothing, for fear her voice would wobble and betray her.

As they left their chambers, she pulled Trey aside. “Find Lord Jaime and Lady Brienne. Ask them to bring my brother Bran to the West field. He’ll already know why.”

The boy’s eyes were wide. He knew something of importance was happening, but not exactly what.

“There’s no need to fret, Trey, everything is fine. Lord Clegane is leaving with a few of the others on the Queen’s business. That’s all you’re to say if anyone asks.”

“On the dragons?”

“Yes.”

“Will it be dangerous business?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

Trey reached out and gingerly, but gallantly, touched her elbow. “We’ll get through it, my Lady.”

She smiled. “That we will. Thank you, Trey.”

The night was cool, but far from cold. Even still she pulled the cloak tighter about her shoulders as they left through the gate, nodding at the Guards who greeted them. Sandor walked along beside her, quiet, and in his thoughts. 

Her own thoughts travelled back to another night, years ago, that found them both walking through a dark field. A night that changed everything between them.

As they drew closer to the West field, the two dark hills in the distance began to take on the shape of dragons.

Funny that they once seemed so frightening. Not that they weren’t still the most fearsome creatures in existence, but ever since her own dragon ride, she saw them in a new way. Now the sight of them gave her a measure of comfort. 

As Arya and Jonah approached them, Sandor spoke the words she was thinking.

“At least the bloody dragons are on our side.”

Arya was practically vibrating with anxiousness as she greeted them, but the look of concern Jonah wore more closely matched Sansa’s own.

“Clegane, we’re to ride Rhaegal with Jon. The Queen will ride Drogon of course, and take Tormund and Tyrion.”

“What the fuck do you mean, Tormund? Since when is he coming?”

“Since I realized we need a third person in the Keep, to ring the bells.” Arya said.

Sansa’s skin went cold. “What bells? Why?”

“We need a way to summon Jon and the Queen. Once Cersei’s dead or captured, or we're in trouble. So we decided to have the Keep bells rung as the signal.”

“And the mad ginger was your choice for this, girl?”

“He may have to fight his way up to the tower.”

“He’ll have to fight his way into the Gods damned city. He sticks out like a whore in a Sept.”

"I've told you, I'll come. I can do it. I want to be there for you." Jonah insisted. 

“No, I can't do my job if I'm worried about you the whole time. If this goes sideways they'll throw every man they have at us. Tormund has more battle experience, and is crazy enough not to care. Besides, the dragon Queen requested him herself." Arya turned to Sandor. "And getting him into the city and the Keep won’t be a problem. I’ve taken care of that.” She smiled.

Sansa was relieved to hear they would have Tormund as well.

Their foursome finally arrived at where the others were gathered before the dragons. It looked like everyone but Bran was there already.

It was a dark, moonless night, but no torches were brought in an attempt to keep the departure from attracting more attention than it needed to. It also helped that most of the castle was in the Hall, still dancing and well into their cups.

Drogon and Rhaegal had other ideas though. Most likely sensing the tension in the party, both rose in turn to extend their wings high above in an almost graceful posture, then lower them in a great beat, releasing their cries and gouts of flame. The rush of wind they stirred blew warm up against the party.

The Queen said a word to them in High Valaryen, and they settled almost immediately. 

In the light of the flames she had seen the others illuminated against the dark night. Tyrion, looking as excited as a young boy about to take his first dragon ride, the Queen, serious and eager to depart, and Jon, with his usual look of grim determination. 

Tormund she almost didn’t recognize. When she first saw him she had started. He wore the uniform of a Lannister. A Lannister Guard. And making him even less recognizable was his freshly shorn hair and trim beard. Sandor had looked him over as well.

“You put him in Kettleback’s uniform, Little Wolf? Don’t YOU need Kettleback’s uniform?” Sandor asked. 

“No. Just his face. And that I have. I had Maester Paul cut his hair and beard. He looks good, doesn't he?"

"And how will you explain this new Guard you happened to pick up to Cersei?"

"I have a plan."

"Oh how fine, a plan to just slip a giant ginger Wildling into the Lannister Guard? What could go wrong?"

"Free Man" Tormund corrected him, and Sandor shot him a look. "Don't you worry Clegane, you know you're glad to have me with you. We're getting good at these adventures together, aren't we? Har!!"

"Seven fucking save me from this one."

The dragons were starting to stir again, and their mother was looking anxious as well.

“Are we all ready to go?” The Queen asked.

“Another moment, if you would, your Grace. I’m expecting my brother, the Raven, to be brought to us momentarily. I thought perhaps we should see if he has any… insights… for you before you take your leave."

The Queen nodded her consent, and Sansa breathed a sigh. She wasn’t sure why, but she needed to see and hear from Bran before she could say goodbye to Sandor and her siblings. The vision she had was still bothering her.

“Sandor, Arya, come. Would do to have you meet Rhaegal properly before we go.” Jon motioned for them to follow him. 

Sansa went along with them. She wanted to pay her regards to the dragon that had kept her safe, and that she now hoped would do the same for her sister and husband. 

She watched as Arya extended a hand for Rhaegal to smell, then approached him with tentative pats and rubs. When he began his now-familiar purring, she explained to Arya what it was, and approached him as well.

Like a happy puppy, the dragon seemed to enjoy the attention. 

"Gods, he's magnificent." Arya said.

“Go ahead Sandor, let him have a sniff at you.” Jon encouraged. 

“Bloody hells. The things I do for you Starks.” He said, and reluctantly held out his hand. 

Rhaegal sniffed and nudged at it, seeming to approve. She and Arya moved away to let him approach. Once Sandor was convinced he wouldn’t be roasted on the spot, he smoothed his hand over the iridescent green scales of the dragon's snout, and spoke to him in the same tone he used with Stranger.

"Alright then, you’re not so bad, are you boy? We can get on fine as long as you keep your bloody flames to yourself, aye? Better tempered than my damned horse, now aren’t you? Purring like a oversized cat. There’s a start."

Sansa and Arya shared a smile. That went better than she would have thought. 

Something behind her caught Jon’s attention, and she turned to see Jaime carrying Bran’s chair, and Brienne carrying Bran himself.

They all gathered around as Brienne settled her brother into the chair.

“Any advice from the Three-eyed Raven before we’re off, Bran?” Jon asked.

“No.”

Good Gods. Always when you wanted him to have something to say.

“Bran, I…” she began.

“No.” He looked at her and shook his head, then looked back to the others. “I have no advice for you all, but I do have something to say to Sandor and Arya. It’s this; sometimes no revenge is the sweetest revenge, and to get it, all you have to do is nothing.”

“Do nothing. Well that’s as clear as fucking day. I feel much better now.”  
Sandor growled, and Bran gave him a small smile. Arya just crossed her arms and quirked her brow at their brother. 

“Things can’t make sense…” Bran began.

“Until the bloody sense is done being made. I remember, boy. Still doesn’t help us at the moment.” 

“Bran…” Sansa tried again. She felt sure now that the vision she had meant something, and she was certain Bran could help her understand what. But once again he cut her off.

“Time is short. You all must take your leave now.” 

Arya sighed, and gave Bran a kiss, then came to hug Sansa.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him safe.”

“He’ll say the same about you.”

“I know.” She smirked. 

Her sister then went to say her goodbyes to Jonah, and it was sweet to see the tenderness between them.

Jon came to give her a hug, then she was surprised when Tyrion and the Queen did so as well. 

The Queen held her hands. “Thank you for everything, Lady Sansa. I look forward to seeing you again soon. I know I'm leaving the North in very capable hands."

“And you as well, your Grace. My thanks.”

Tormund gave her a wink. “Don’t worry girl, we’ll have your man home to you in no time.”

When Sandor picked her up, she clung to him.

“While I’m gone, double the Guard on the gates, and on the walls. There still may be Lannister men that stayed behind.”

“I’ll see to securing Winterfell. We'll be fine here. You just worry about taking care of yourselves in the Capitol. I hate that place.”

“Aye, as do I. But I’ll keep the Little Wolf in one piece.”

“And keep yourself in one piece as well. Like you said when I flew off, just get back to me, Sandor.”

“Nothing could ever keep me from returning to you, Little Bird.”

Sansa tried to summon her mother’s stoic spirit, her poised and calm farewells each time her father had to ride off, but a tear slipped from her eye nonetheless.

“I love you, Sandor"

“I love you too, Little Bird. Tell that big bed I’ll be seeing it again soon, and we’ll make good use of the rest of it.”

She laughed as he set her down, wiping her tears away with his thumbs, and kissing her softly.

After Tyrion finished a quiet conversation and farewell with his brother, the party mounted their dragons. Arya was wedged safely between Jon and Sandor, as Tyrion was between the Queen and Tormund.

Sansa went to stand with Brienne, Jaime, and Jonah, beside Bran, to watch them take flight. 

Once the two massive beasts had disappeared into the night sky, they turned and made their way back to the castle. 

“Lord Jaime, I know this can’t be easy for you.” She said, observing his pained expression as he walked. Jonah had taken up Bran's chair, so Jaime was left empty handed, rubbing unconciously at his stump.

“It’s not. But I know it must be done. Either way. The Cersei that calls herself Queen now is no longer the Cersei that was my sister. The mother of our children. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, but that’s the way of it.”

Brienne, with Bran in her arms as if he were as light as a child, looked over at her betrothed with concern, but said nothing. 

“Tyrion said something similar when we spoke.” Sansa told him.

“I imagine he would. There’s been no love between them for as far back as I can remember, but she was still his sister.”

They were all silent the rest of the way back. Jonah went back to the Hall, and Brienne and Jaime left her and Bran alone in the family solar after saying their good nights, Jaime with her instructions to reinforce the Guard. Once the door had closed behind them, she turned to her brother. 

But he spoke before she could.

“There is power in the Stark blood of this generation. Yours too. You lost Lady before it developed into what the rest of us could do with our wolves. What I can do as the Raven. But it was still there anyway. Now it awakens in you. It’s not the power to wharg, nor is it the power to see as I can. Your vision was but a glimpse."

"Jon told me about the wolves." 

Jon had mentioned it to her almost offhandedly, in the midst of something else they were discussing, and she knew the casual tone he had taken was an attempt to spare her feelings about Lady. And it did hurt to learn of how close the others could become with their wolves. The 'wharging', as he called it. Enough time had passed that the the pain of her loss was dull, but this new truth a bit sharp. She was glad to know it anyway. 

"As time goes by, perhaps you’ll begin to see more." Bran continued. "But remember Sansa, nothing about the future is ever set in stone, and not all the visions you have are to be acted upon. Some you must just keep close, and wait.”

“But why is this happening now? Why not before?”

“Your circle has been completed. Your links have been forged. A new chain has begun.”

She sighed deeply. “I feel like saying something Sandor would say to you at the moment, but I’ll restrain myself.”

He smiled serenely. “I understand. And you will too. In time.”

“Is it the rings? The Weirwood? Are they magic?”

“There is no magic, Sansa. Only knowledge, and some of it is very old, and very powerful. It transcends our own minds, and flows through those of us with the old blood. The knowledge is to be used, to be joined with others, or sometimes simply to be watched and waited on.”

"Blood will tell. Isn't that the old expression?" She laughed wryly. "And what of Sandor's blood? The blood you so recently confirmed had Stark in it. Is this why? Will he have this old knowledge too?"

"Blood will tell, as you said. Now we'll have to wait, and listen."

***

As she returned to their new chambers, and slipped beneath the covers of their bed alone, she spun the ring on her finger with her thumb again, this time actually hoping for a glimpse of something. Something that would perhaps reassure her all would be well. A better vision to replace the last.

But there was nothing. 

And as night bled into the earliest hours of dawn, she fell into a restless sleep, but still there was nothing. Not even a dream. Just a small voice in the back of her consciousness repeating the same words.

"Nothing. Nothing isn’t better or worse than anything. It’s just nothing."


	61. Back Again

Chapter 61 – Back Again

*Sandor*

The first time he had climbed on a dragon he was so relieved to not be dead, he barely recalled the ride. That time it was on the other one, the Queen’s big black beast. This time, on the smaller green one, he tried to pay a bit more attention. If he lived through this, he may want to tell the tale some day.

He wasn’t sure whether it made things better or worse once the sun came up, and he could clearly see how high above land they were. 

By the first time they landed to rest the beasts, flying had become a measure less frightening, and by the second time, he had finally stopped thinking this was how he’d meet his end. 

They had located and flown over both the Unsullied, marching south on foot, and then later the Dothraki, who had made good time on their journey south on horseback.

One drawback of dragon travel as compared to horseback, was that he was more sore from hours on a dragon than he had ever been from even weeks on a horse. He had never felt the need to grip a horse’s reins for dear life, as falling off Stranger wouldn’t result in him plunging to his death far below. He had drunkenly tested this many a time. So he continued to hold on to Rhaegal's spikes tightly, and kept his legs pressed to the beast's back.

The Little Wolf had no such issues. To watch her you’d think she was born on a dragon's back. Well, good for her. At least someone was enjoying themselves. She kept turning to pepper him with facts about dragons and their riders that she had learned from some book, reminding him almost of Snow's fat friend Tarly. It was all ‘I read that Targaryens did this, and dragons that.’ 

At the very least, her chatter kept his mind off the ground below. Her brother would laugh from time to time at one dragon fact or another, but made no comments. After she had recited what felt like the entire bloody book, he did know quite a bit more than he had about dragons and Targaryens, and an odd thought occurred to him, but he kept it to himself.

Tormund seemed to be untroubled by the flying as well. Every time the Queen and Drogon came up close to shout back and forth with Jon regarding their course, the Wildling would whoop and holler nonsense to him and Arya, grinning like a fool. Of course that mad fucker would be loving all this. Tyrion looked a bit less enthusiastic and quite green around the gills wedged between them.

It was night again by the time Kings Landing came into view. The clouds hid what was only a sliver of moon, and the inky darkness luckily provided enough cover that if one wasn’t expecting two giant dragons to drop out of the sky, one probably wouldn’t notice two large dragons dropping out of the sky. 

They chose a spot on the opposite side of Blackwater Rush, and he, Arya, and Tormund were quickly deposited before Jon and the Queen took flight again, making for the ruins of the Dragon Pit. 

The irony of hiding two dragons within the city itself, in the very ruins of a once magnificent structure built and named for them, was lost on no one. 

This was Tyrion’s idea, and Sandor had to admit, it was a clever one. Their successful drop from above alongside the Rush confirmed that the strategy the dwarf had concocted would most likely work. 

“Trust me, your Grace, if we fly high enough in the darkness, and come straight down into the ruins, not a soul will see. We’ll be close enough to hear the bells, and close enough that if this sortie drags on a while, we’ll have undisturbed shelter. People believe this ruin to be cursed. A bonus is that no one in the city knows Lord Snow if we need provisions. It’s perfect.” The dwarf explained on their last stop to rest the dragons.

“Nothing is perfect. But it will have to do.” The Queen replied. "From what we've seen the Dothraki are still four days of hard riding away from where we've planned for them to make camp, and the Unsullied at least two weeks away." The Queen turned to Arya. "If your plan to take Cersei's face fails, and you cannot hold the castle without our intervention, I still have concerns with my armies at such a distance."

"With no disrespect, your Grace, either way, I think it's best you take the Red Keep, the Throne, and the Capitol without your armies. Its wasn't so long ago that a Targaryen sat the throne. Not a good one, but another Targaryen taking it will seem more familiar than an army of foreigners invading the city. The people have been suffering under Cersei. They despise her. Her men despise her. They will be yours once they know she's gone. Let the armies come later. You will come first. You will bring them dragons." Arya smiled.

"Alright. What you say Lady Stark, my Hand here has said again and again. I'll put my faith in you both. It would be a shame to have to burn my castle down when I've only just arrived."

"A hero AND a clever woman. Lady Stark, you're in danger of becoming a politician." Tyrion laughed.

So now the three of them walked in darkness alongside the river. Their first objective was to find a boat to ferry them across to the Red Keep. 

Arya excused herself to step into the brush, and Sandor assumed she had to make water. He and Tormund took the opportunity to do so themselves. But when she stepped back out to join them, he almost pissed on his boots.

His eyes had him reaching for his sword a moment before his mind reminded him this was still the Little Wolf, and Osmund Kettleblack was dead. 

“Others take us, Clegane! That’s fucking terrifying. How do you do that, girl?”

“A Faceless Man doesn’t reveal their secrets.”

“You’re a bloody man alright. Have to agree with Tormund, that’s fucking terrifying. You sure that’s really still you in there?”

Arya-in-Kettleblack laughed Kettleblack's loud, barking laugh. Shit. That was terrifying too.

“Ask me a question then. Something only you and I would know.”

“What did the farmer’s daughter make us for dinner?”

“Sally? The very best rabbit stew both of us had ever eaten. At least we thought so at the time, what with starving and all.”

“Aye, that’s you in there. Hopefully you're not stuck with that dumb cunt's dim wits along with the rest of it."

"I can't know his mind. I just get sense of his memories. His way of speaking. His mannerisms."

"Well that's some luck. Alright then, let’s get going across the river, the sooner this is done with, the sooner we all go home.”

Tormund approached Kettleblack, and tried to poke a finger into his cheek. Arya slapped it away. “Cut it out, you big oaf. It’s still me. Think of it as a costume. A really good one."

“Fucking terrifying.” He shook his head.

They soon came upon a ferry anchored to a small rotting dock. The watery-eyed old captain, once woken, was all too happy to help two Lannister Guards and their quarry cross. Bloody suck up. Although he surely didn’t refuse their coin. Fear of the Crown alone only bought so much.

When they reached the other side of the Rush, the walls of the Red Keep rose straight up from the gravelly bank where they were left. Arya only hesitated a moment to look about, then started walking.

“You know where you’re going?” he asked.

“Better than you. I did nothing but roam this castle inside and out for months while we were here. I know of more secret places than even the Spider did.”

He soon saw she was leading them on a shortcut up a scrubby hill to the Mud Gate. 

Upon seeing the gate and the guards beside it, his every muscle tensed. His mind was yelling that he was a fool, and that if he walked through that gate, he’d likely never walk out again. But it was much too late for second thoughts now, and fuck it, at least this time the city wasn't burning. Not yet, anyways.

The two guards were both no one he recognized, nor did they seem to know who he was. They went bowing and scraping to Kettleblack, but only eyed he and Tormund with mild curiosity. Shit guards. They should have seen the unease rolling off all three of them if they were really looking. 

As they made their way up the red cobbled streets and paths towards the Keep, his tension grew. Passing outbuildings he knew even in the dark, the stables that used to be Stranger’s home, the training yard, the bailey, and finally the guarded gate into the Keep itself brought back every torment and all the ghosts he had gladly left behind. 

But that’s all they were now, he had to remind himself, ghosts. They were all dead. His enemies. Sansa’s enemies. All but one, and that would be remedied soon enough, he hoped.

The few people out at this hour only glanced their way before scurrying on. The authority of that damned white cloak Kettleblack wore still worked its magic. Fucking Kingsguard. Guess it would be Queensguard now, though. That needed to be remembered. 

When they approached the drawbridge to Maegors, he stopped. 

“Wait. You can’t march me up to Cersei at this hour. As much as it will please her to see me captured, no man in his right mind would go banging on doors and waking the Queen for it. And I don’t exactly look captured without rope or chain. You need to leave me in the dungeon till morning. Then send word to the Queen.”

“Will that be safe?” Tormund asked.

“Nothing about this plan or this place is safe. But I need to look like I’m here against my will, not like a puppy that followed you home.”

“Then it’s to the lower dungeon with you. I don’t want word of you being here to get to the gaolers, or to Cersei before we’re ready.” Arya decided. 

She led them back to the castle proper and down stair after stair into the lowest portion of the dungeon. The deeper they descended, the more dank and close the air became. The smell here was more of rot and mold than the stink of unwashed prisoners. It was the dungeon below the dungeon, where most men went down, never to see the light of day again. 

Arya struck a torch and led him past empty cell after cell. That no other prisoners were being kept here did not bode well for how Cersei was dealing with her captives. They found manacles for his wrists along the way, but set them aside until they were needed in the morning. 

She finally found a cell she approved of, in one of the furthest corners of the dungeon. 

“How do you even know of this place, girl?” he asked her.

“Like I said, I spent months roaming every inch of this castle. How do you think I got out of the Keep that day? And be glad of it, it will help us get out if it comes to that." 

He grunted. At the moment, it wouldn’t do well to think back on anything about that day. 

“I’ll find my chambers, and Tormund and I will wait for morning, then come for you. Oh, and one more thing.”

She punched him in the face.

He staggered back and held his hand to his now bleeding nose. 

“What the fuck…”

Then she hit him again. 

Now his left eye exploded in pain, and he felt the skin below it open up from the force of the blow.

“Bloody fucking hells girl!”

“Sorry. Like you said, you have to look captured. Can’t see the Hound not putting up a bit of a fuss along the way. By morning you should look appropriately awful.” 

The ginger idiot laughed, “Oh, she did you right well, Clegane. That had to hurt!”

“Shut the fuck up or you'll look like you're wearing the other end of this fight."

She fished a handkerchief from the pocket of her breeches and handed it to him along with a skin of water before shutting him into the cell. 

“I won’t turn the lock, so if anything goes wrong you can let yourself out. No one should come down here in the meantime.”

He held the cloth under his bleeding nose. “Your rooms will be in the White Tower, next to where the Tower of the Hand stood. There’s a side door to the east that will keep you from having to go through the Guard Hall. Just be careful, and try to speak to as few people as you can.” He told her.

“This will work, Clegane.” She said. 

“Aye. It better for all this trouble. I think you broke my nose."

And so he spent his first night back in Kings Landing sitting atop a pile of moldy straw, in the black corner of the dungeon, with a swollen and bloodied face. Truth was, he’d been in worse spots before. If this was what it took to end this Gods damned war for good, and get back home to the North and Sansa, than so be it. 

When he last left this place it was because he realized he no longer had a life here. A life worth living, anyways. He had ridden off with nothing, into nothing. This time he would leave here knowing he had everything in the world waiting for him. 

He layed back on the straw, and rested his hands on his chest. His thumb found and spun the Weirwood ring on his finger, and he thought of Sansa. Thought of home. The life he had somehow been gifted back in the North. Winterfell. 

He felt exhaustion claiming him and he closed his eyes. As he fell into an uneasy sleep, he could see her; like a small red bird perched on the battlements of the Keep. As his vision drew closer he saw her soft grey dress moving in the night's breeze. Her hair, in a braid across her shoulder. She looked inwards this time though, over the yards and the Stables. The new kennel being remade. A kennel he didn't know he wanted until she had told him of her plan, and he started seeing the pups he'd choose to fill it. She looked to the barracks and the Hall. The North Gate. He knew she was thinking of him and their new life together. The home they were building. It was a dream that felt unusually real.

Sometime later he awoke, suddenly alert at what sounded like heavy, armored footsteps. He couldn't tell if they were coming closer or retreating. Making his way to the bars of the cell as silently as he could, he peered through them and up the corridor. The only light was from the guttering torch Arya and Tormund had left burning in a sconce on the wall. 

There was no one to be seen, nor could he hear the footsteps any longer. Perhaps he hadn’t heard them at all. 

His face was throbbing again now from being pressed to the bars, and he used the last of the light trickling into the cell to find the water skin, wishing he had asked them to leave the wine instead.

He made himself as comfortable as he was going to get back on the straw, and waited. 

Waited for the Little Wolf and Tormund, and whatever this day would bring.


	62. Reunion

Chapter 62 – Reunion 

*Sandor*

As time crawled by, his stomach tied itself into knots, and his thoughts ran through every possible reason for the delay. Every possible action he might take. Stay, wait. Leave, fight. 

More than once his hands found the bolt in the dark, pulled it back, and pushed open the cell door. But then he’d think better of it. He needed to have a bit of patience.

Unfortunately patience was not one of his strengths. But for now he would wait.

As he paced the cell, he strained his ears at any noise, but all he heard was the scurry of rats making their way about in the darkness.

As the hours continued to pass, his stomach told him he had missed more than just the morning meal. It had to be almost evening again. 

Patience was well and good, but he’d finally had enough of it. 

“Fuck this. I’m going up.” He told the rats. 

With the torch burned out long ago, all he could do was feel his way down the corridor, his right hand running along the damp moldering stones. He figured he’d know he’d reached the door when it found his face. Hopefully the Little Wolf had remembered to leave it unlocked as well, otherwise he wasn’t going anywhere. 

When he heard the pull and thud of the first iron bound door to the stairwell open and close above him, he quickly felt his way into the cell opposite, and after the second door sounded, he drew his sword.

There was suddenly the flickering of torchlight filling the corridor, and even the muted glow that crept into the cell seemed too bright to his eyes so long in the dark. He didn’t dare press his face to the bars again to see who came, but he didn’t have to.

“Clegane!” Arya-as-Kettleblack hissed.

He stepped out of the cell almost nose to nose with her. Him. Her.

“GODS Clegane! You startled me! What are you doing this far up the corridor?”

“My apologies. I was just making my way on up to see what the BLOODY FUCKING HELLS was taking you so long. Figured by now you were found out and strung up by your borrowed set of balls.”

“Not quite, but Cersei already knew you were here by the time I sent word to her this morning.”

He thought immediately of the footsteps he heard last night. 

“Did she receive you?”

“Yes, but not until almost midday. And she didn’t stay how she knew about you. Just knew.” 

“And what of the meeting?”

“She saw me in the royal chambers. Her solar. Word from the guards is that she rarely leaves them anymore. Hasn’t been down to the Throne Room to hold court in weeks. Cites ‘war preparations’ as her reason. There’s much suspicion and disquiet amongst her courtiers, and the people are starving. Some say she’s gone mad, and is leading the city into a war it can’t win. She’s grown paranoid and sees treason in every face. She abandoned her Small Council, and now only keeps her Hand and Queensguard close.”

“And her Hand?”

“Qyburn. Looks like a Maester, robed, but not chained, except she calls him 'Lord'. They say he was expelled from the Citadel, and is rumored to be everything from a warlock to a necromancer, but all agree he’s an evil bug in her ear. He came with Jaime from Harrenhal when he was released, and somehow ingratiated himself to her. He put Pycell to death, as it's told.”

“And of Cersei herself?”

“She looks terrible. A shadow of the Queen I met at Winterfell all those years ago. Her hair is shorn, she's pale as a corpse, and looks half starved but for the wine that never leaves her hand. If you ask me, the rumors she’s gone mad are well founded.”

“And what did you tell her of me?”

“I told her of the battle at Winterfell, losing most of my men, recruiting Tormund as a dissatisfied Northerner with the promise of coin and position, and capturing the Hound, who we found drunk outside of town during our retreat. A stroke of good luck. Seemed you had been fighting with the North when the dead came, and then stayed on afterwards.”

“She knows nothing more? Nothing of Sansa, or the Queen’s armies? She must have had word of their march by now.”

“Don’t know what she knows, only what she said, which was very little, but you can see the castle is preparing for siege. She is preparing. And she’s not just afraid, she’s terrified. She stinks of it.”

“Which makes her even more dangerous.”

"She sent me to get you. She's ready to see you."

"Well here I am. This is what we came for."

He gave his sword and scabbard to the Little Wolf, and she secured it around her waist, pushing the blade to hang behind her, concealed in the folds of her white cloak. He kept his dagger on under his jerkin.

She retrieved the wrist shackles, and once he was bound, pocketed the key, and they made their way up and out of the lower dungeon. 

“Where’s Tormund?”

“He’s waiting for us above. I had him out disabling as many Scorpions as he could most of the day.”

“What in the Seven Hells is a Scorpion?”

“You’ll see.”

And he did. On their way from the castle proper to Maegors, Arya pointed out the vicious looking weapons, placed along the castle walls at intervals. They looked like a giant's crossbow, loaded with bolts longer than a jousting lance, and he counted at least a dozen of them surrounding the castle. 

“Fuck. She means them for the dragons.”

“Exactly. But I got a look at one up close. They’re on platforms bolted to the walls in two places, front and back, but all that holds the bow to the platform are two big iron pins. Without the front pin, the force of the first shot should flip the whole bloody thing backwards off the wall.”

“Clever.”

“Thank you. So I had Tormund up on the walls this morning checking them under my orders.”

“And pulling pins. Heh heh.” The Wildling turned Lannister guard slapped him on the back and laughed. “Got all but two of them on the east side of the walls.”

The two unknown guards on the drawbridge nodded to Kettleblack and Tormund, and stared a bit longer this time at Sandor.

“It’s your face. I did a good job rearranging it.”

“Aye. Feels rearranged. Could have taken off the gauntlet first.”

“Forgot.”

Before they entered Maegors, Arya stopped. 

“Tormund, you remember the plan?”

“Bell tower is in the Keep, to the rear, above the Throne Room. Saw it from atop the walls this morning, and know how to get there. I ring one bell low and slow once the brother-fucker Queen is dead, and you’ve slid on her skin to surrender. But if everything goes to shit, I ring all the bells. Then we run like hells for the dragon pit before Jon and the dragon Queen come and cook the castle. I got it.”

Sandor shuddered. Why the fuck did he come here again? 

They passed no one he recognized on their way up to the royal chambers. What was once a loud and familiar place, filled with loud and familiar people, now seemed like a graveyard of strangers keeping their heads low, and their voices lower.

Four Queensguards in their white cloaks stood outside the ornately carved double doors that led to the royal family’s private rooms. Now just Cersei’s private rooms. There was no family left.

The guards nodded to Kettleblack, and one disappeared through the doors to announce them. While they waited for his return, Arya pulled them down a ways, out of earshot.

“We’ll get this done quickly and quietly. These four may never even need to know.”

“Sounds lovely. And too easy. She’s not going to be in there alone.”

“She’ll have Qyburn with her, and he’ll need to be dealt with, but why would she have more guards in her personal chambers? She knows Tormund and I are here to protect her from you."

“You underestimate her, girl. She knows me well, knows that if I get a sword in my hand I’d cut through the two of you without even breaking a sweat. And if she’s already scared and smelling treason in the air, so much the worse.”

“Then we fight whoever we need to fight. I mean to see her dead, Clegane. Tonight.”

“And if she’s pregnant? Our deal with Tyrion?”

From how the Little Wolf had described Cersei’s appearance, he already knew she wasn’t with child. If there was one thing Cersei Lannister did well, it was carry and bear her babes. Never had he seen her a moment sick or looking anything other than rosy-cheeked and hale while she carried. But he wanted Arya thinking. She was eager and overconfident, and that’s when things usually ended up going wrong. 

“She’s not. You’ll see for yourself. And either way, I don’t particularly care. Didn’t stop Tywin from ordering my pregnant Good Sister murdered at the Twins, did it?”

“No. But you listen to me girl, the dragon Queen will take this city, one way or the other. Cersei can’t stop what’s coming. I promised your sister both of us would return in one piece, and I mean to keep that promise. I know you want your revenge. The last name on your list. No one knows about wanting revenge more than me. I didn’t get mine, and it mattering not one fucking bit. I’m better off because of it. So if we have to walk away from this, we walk. And we keep walking. Let Jon and the Queen burn this shit city to the ground and Cersei along with it. We go home. To Sansa. To Jonah. To Winterfell. To the lives you and I once thought we’d never have. Understand me?”

“That was beautiful, Clegane.” The ginger idiot actually had tears in his eyes.

“Others take me, will you shut up?”

“I understand.” Arya-in-Kettleblack said. “But I made promises I mean to keep as well. One of them was that we could do this. So let’s get it done, then we’ll go home.”

The double doors opened, and the guard stepped out, holding the door open to them. “Queen Cersei will see you now.”

He sighed deeply. 

“Aye. Alright girl. Let’s get it done.”

***

The royal chambers looked every bit as opulent as he remembered them, but the silence seemed to swallow them as soon as they entered. 

Despite the incense, the flowers in vases placed about, and the cloying smell of Cersei’s perfume, the rooms held an undertone of death. The sickly sweet smell of flesh gone afoul. 

Cersei sat at what he still thought of as King Robert’s large gilded desk. 

Kettleback and Tormund gripped him between them securely and brought him before her. 

The Hand of the Queen Arya described to him earlier was standing silently behind her in his black robes, small and rat-faced. The man managed to study him intently while still appearing completely disinterested. He saw no other guards in the room.

For a long while he and Cersei simply took their measure of one another. Hard to think now that they had known each other since they were both barely out of their childhoods. At one time he spent almost every waking hour in her presence. Guarding her life. Her children. No one was a more practiced observer of her than he.

She tried to conceal the twitch of displeasure in her wry smile, if you could call the look of a snake eyeing its prey a smile. She wasn’t used to her Dog holding her eye. But he wasn’t her Dog anymore, so fuck her.

She took in his dress, his hair, his beaten face. He did likewise. Arya was correct, she looked like shit. Being consumed by hate, haunted by her ghosts, and hunted by her enemies had taken a brutal toll on her once famous beauty. She was also most definitely not pregnant. He could tell that at first glance. 

Once she had taken her look, she stood and went to a side table. There she took her time filling two golden goblets with wine, and with them in hand, came back to sit on the edge of the desk.

“Clearly the rumors of your demise were false. You Cleganes are quite hard to kill, aren’t you?”

“Half of us.”

She laughed. “Yes. Oberyn Martell did make rather short work of your brother. And while the whole Court and castle looked on. That had to have stung. Are you terribly disappointed you missed the chance to do it yourself?”

Sandor said nothing. 

“Ser Osmund, remove his wrist shackles.” she commanded, then looked at Tormund. “You're a Northerner, but I’m told you can be trusted in your new position, for the right amount of coin.”

“Who can’t be trusted, for the right amount of coin, heh?” he replied. 

“You’d be surprised. Take the Hound here. It was never about the coin for him. It was about loyalty. Loyalty to my father and our family. There was a time when my father trusted no man more. Trusted him with my own life. The only daughter of Tywin Lannister.” She turned her twisted smile his way again, then looked at Kettleblack.

“Did you know there was a time when all the grasping hens that surrounded Jaime and I used to throw themselves at Sandor Clegane? Oh, yes. Not for his looks of course, although there’s no accounting for the rare deviant taste, but for information, favor, access to me, to our family. He rejected every one of them. Young, beautiful, coming at him with their tits out and their skirts in their hands. Jaime and I used to marvel at his restraint. His loyalty.” She met Sandor’s eyes again. “And once the word spread you couldn’t be seduced, it became the men who tried to get their hooks in. They tried to ply you with whores and gambling. Drink. The drink you did take to, but none of the rest. And even drunk, you never spilled a single word against us.”

“I don’t think anyone here gives a shit about our little shared history.” He growled. 

“No, I would imagine not, but I do. Because I need to look back so I can look forward. Make sense of things. Things I’ve wondered about for quite some time now. I said to unshackle him.” She snapped at Kettleblack. 

Arya’s attention had shifted to Cersie during her little reminiscence. But at her repeated command, Kettleblack took the key from his pocket, and removed the metal shackles. “Is it wise to have him unrestrained, Your Grace?”

“It’s fine. Here.” She held out one of the wine goblets to Sandor. “Have a drink with me.”

He took the cup, and a long drink. “Since when does Cersei Lannister drink with the help?”

“Since never. But you’re not the help anymore, are you, Lord Clegane? And from the whispers my Hand tells me, you’re soon to be Lord Clegane of Winterfell, husband to Sansa Stark, Wardeness of the North.”

“Already am.”

“Well, that IS news. So it wasn’t coin or cunts that turned your head, it was control of half the continent. I had often wondered why you left. Rumor was you broke at Blackwater, but I knew that wasn’t true. Turns out you’re far more ambitious than anyone ever gave you credit for. And how is your lovely new bride then?”

“Still wishing you dead.”

She laughed. It was the first genuine expression yet. “Ah. You never lie, do you Clegane?”

“Not when it can be helped.”

“So tell me, did you set your sights on Sansa Stark here? When she was betrothed to my son? Your Prince? Your King?”

“He was a cunt. And a shit King.”

“Ah, and you felt sorry for the poor, pretty little Stark girl, did you? Is that how you worked your way in? Played the hero for her? Promised her your sword? It would have been the only way the prim and proper Sansa Stark would have let you anywhere near her.”

“I was a shit hero.”

“Clearly. You left the city without your fair maiden. But you must have done something right, because here you are now, her husband, and for all purposes the Warden of the North. I said I cared about your history, but suddenly I’ve also come to care about your future. A future that can end tonight with one word from me, or a future that could see you back to your wife’s icy Northern bed. Perhaps we can make all those years of your loyalty to House Lannister less of a waste.”

He said nothing, but knew exactly where she was going with this. Her downfall was always thinking she was clever. She wasn’t. She was predictable. 

“I’m willing to give you a choice. You can choose to pledge your fealty to me, ride back to Winterfell, and let your new wife know that I’ve named you Warden of the North. Sansa Stark will become Sansa Clegane. And Lord Clegane, Warden of the North, will join the North to the Crown. My crown.”

“Or?”

“That’s the very best part. The ‘Or'. The part I was saving for last. Lord Qyburn, would you be so kind as to ask my Sworn Shield to join us? I’d like to show Lord Clegane his ‘Or'.”

“At once, your Grace.”

With that, the rat-faced Hand nodded and disappeared through an adjoining door.

He glanced at Arya. It was much harder to read her as Kettleblack, but he could tell enough from her posture that she was thinking now would be the time to strike, but he gave her a look that said no. He wanted to see this Sworn Shield. Know what they'd be dealing with in addition to the four guards at the door.

And then he heard it, the heavy armored footsteps from the dungeon last night.  
When the door opened, and he saw who, what, came through it, his blood went cold. 

He heard, rather than saw, the smile of satisfaction in Cersie’s voice, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the monstrosity before him.

“Here is your ‘Or', Dog. Lord Qyburn does remarkable work, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sandor’s heart was racing and his breath came in ragged gasps. He felt Arya grasp his arm as if to restrain him, but he knew she just meant to keep him on his feet.

“You’ll give me the North, Lord Clegane, or after I watch your brother kill you, Qyburn will assist you in joining Ser Gregor in his loyal service to me. I’ll have both Cleganes. Once you return to my side, perhaps I’ll send Ser Gregor to deal your new bride. He would enjoy that. So the choice is yours. You just have to make it.”


	63. Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back from a ridiculously long hiatus, I am determined to finish my little fanfic... so away we go :)

Chapter 63 – Vigil

*Sansa*

Morning found her alone in their vast new bed and still awake. When Evvie knocked on her door, she rose and went through the motions of preparing for the day. She had breakfast in her solar with Trey, and planned a full day of tasks and duties.

She called for a meeting of her Northern Council, and when questions arose about the late night departures, it was easy enough to explain that the Queen and her men were off preparing for their final battle. 

It was more difficult to explain why her new husband, and now the Lord of Winterfell, left straight from his marriage bed to go with them. But in the end, his knowledge of Kings Landing and the Red Keep being invaluable to these preparations, was accepted as reason enough. 

She sought out Jaime, and heard his plans to reinforce the House Guard, afterwards having to convince Brienne there was no need for her to take up her former role of sworn shield. She appreciated her concern, but assured her that as long as Winterfell was well protected, she would be perfectly safe within its walls.

Trey followed her throughout the day. His quiet presence, broken only by thoughtful questions and easy smiles, was something of a comfort, but by the time she was dressing for dinner, her nerves were beginning to wear.

She chose a soft blue gown, and had Evvie wrap her hair up in braids, hoping that if she looked pretty and gay, no one would look deeper and see through to her worry. 

She had asked Bran to attend dinner in the Hall with her, as she did not want her people greeted with a sparse High Table. Once she was dressed she went to find him in the family solar.

He was ‘away’ when she arrived. Normally this state didn’t concern her, but given the current situation, she was both afraid of what he may be seeing, and what he wasn’t. All she could do was pour herself a goblet wine, and settle into a chair to wait.

“There is still so much I still have to learn.” He said when he returned, frustration adding a rare edge to his usual serenity.

“Would that I could help you, Bran.”

“You are.”

I don't feel a help to anyone at the moment.”

“You won back our home, Sansa. You won back the North. And now you will join it with the Free Folk. Here in the North I can see. The Weirwoods can share their knowledge, and the blood of the Children and the First Men still flows. You are preserving that. But the South... south the trees are gone and the blood is thin.” He shook his head.

“What is it you’re trying to do?”

“Be the thousand eyes and one. I send my ravens south, but most fly blind. They return at times wondering why they flew at all. I try, and try again, but only get glimpses. I need to learn how Bloodraven did it.”

“Who is Bloodraven? I wish I could understand.”

“He was, not is. He is gone too soon, and that was my doing. And I don’t understand either. Not all. Not yet. I have lifetimes to learn, but only in this lifetime will I have the ones I love. I need to do more. See more. Afterwards my leaves will only whisper at your ghosts.”

“Lifetimes?" She rose and went to take his hand.

"Bran, what ARE you now? For true.”

He just smiled wryly at her and shrugged. It was such a silly, boyish gesture she could only laugh. 

“Well, whatever you are, you know I love you. And I know you are doing all you can.” She gave him a kiss. “Will you still come to the Hall?”

"Yes. There no more I can do for now." 

He sounded so sad. It frightened her.

"But Sansa, know that I wont stop trying. Ever."

So that night her people got a rare glimpse of the Raven. She sat him to her right, with Trey and his mother Annabelle to her left, both shy but excited to be at the High Table. It cheered her a bit, but as the others joined them, she noted the tension behind eyes and tight smiles of Val, Jaime, Brienne, and Jonah. 

After the meal she invited the musicians to play, and all to make merry, but without Sandor, she had no desire to stay and dance. She left as soon as was polite.

The nursery is where she ended up. She dismissed Bessa to her dinner, and sat on the rug with little Mason. It hadn’t even been a fortnight since he and Val arrived, yet he already seemed to have grown. 

They played at blocks. Stacking them again and again to be knocked over with squeals, and then chewed on with gusto. She discovered if she picked up a doll and made it walk and talk, he would hold his arms out for it, and try to do the same. She let him play until he grew tired, and came to curl into her lap, his warm little body so soothing.

When she awoke some time later, she was still on the nursery rug, Mason sleeping at her side. Someone had placed a cover over them.

“They have a way of doing that. The little ones. Filling all the empty spots in your heart.”

Val was seated in a chair by the hearth, legs tucked up under herself and a book open in her lap.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Not to worry. I had come up to do the same, but the pair of you looked too peaceful to disturb.”

Sansa sat up and patted her hair. What she felt told her she must look a fright.

“Come.” Val gestured her over. “I’ll see to it.” 

As Sansa sat at the foot of her chair, Val removed the pins and gently unwound the braids, combing through the waves with her fingers.

“Will she let him come home, do you think? The dragon Queen.” Val asked quietly. 

“Jon?”

“Yes. She loves him. Perhaps no longer as a lover, but she still loves him. She sees what he is, and it isn’t just the blood they share. She sees honor and duty she’s not like to find in any other. Jon told me of her knight, Jorah. What he meant to her. But where her knight wanted nothing more than to serve her till his last breath, Jon wants to do his duty, then be free. I just wonder if she’ll let him.”

“Because you love him too.”

“I do.”

“And does he love you?”

Val shared one of her rare smiles. “He does.”

“Then nothing will keep him from coming back to you, Val. Not a queen, nor an army, nor a dragon. Nothing.”

The beautiful Wildling girl kissed her cheek. “From your lips to the Old Gods ears. And may they bring back your man and your sister as well.”

They rose, and she watched as Val scooped up the sleeping child, placed him in the bed, then curled up around him. 

Quietly, she let herself out and closed the nursery door. She couldn't bear the thought of being alone in their new chambers right now, and went up instead. Up to the battlements, to think her thoughts under the stars.

***

Sansa was in the Godswood the next evening when she heard the armored steps from her dream behind her.

Knowing sleep would elude her again tonight, alone in their empty bed, she thought to pray. It was all that was left when no other action could be taken. It was too soon for a raven with news, and the other Raven could tell her no more today than he could yesterday. 

The Godswood had come to be a special place for she and Sandor, and she felt closer to him here.

She had not held vigil before a Heart Tree since the night she, Arya, and her father prayed before the southern oak in Kings Landing, to thank the Gods when Bran woke up. She and Arya had fallen asleep after a time, but her father had not left his knees till the sun rose.

She left her knees now at the sound, and whirled to look about her. There was no one there, but she was suddenly very afraid.

The steps stopped abruptly and a scent filled her nose. Perfume. Sweet and cloying. Queen Cersei. Her stomach turned, and she saw herself once again before the Queen. Begging to stay and marry Jeoffrey. Begging to see her father. Begging to go home. Begging for mercy.

“No…” she whispered, and shook her head to clear the visions. “Please…”

This time it was her Old Gods she was pleading with as she fell back to her knees and reached out to the tree. 

She heard Bran’s voice as her hands met the smooth white bark.

“Tell him all he needs to do is nothing. Nothing will be everything now. Tell him, Sansa. They can’t hear me in that place.”

Now a smell of decay crept about her and overtook the perfume. She retched, digging her nails into the Weirwood, and feeling sap, warm like blood, under her nails. 

She heard another voice. A man. A man that was Arya call his name. “Clegane!” And the smell of death carried on and on around her. 

“Tell him Sansa. Tell him. Nothing. Nothing can be everything. Arya will know. He is no one."

“I don’t know what that means, Bran! What does it mean?” but there was no answer.

She was sobbing now, in deep ragged breaths, and clawing at the tree with broken nails as if to get to them. Her hands red with sap and the blood from her torn fingertips.

“Sandor …” she wept his name, “What’s happening… Bran!”

In reply she felt a wind rip through the leaves above her, the sound like a thousand birds taking flight, and a wave of fury slammed into her chest. A hatred so cold it took her breath, and she had to gasp to fill her lungs again. 

There was only one man he hated so purely.

“No. Please. No.” She whispered. “Not him. It’s not him. He’s dead.” 

She heard the steel footsteps begin again.

“TELL HIM.” Bran roared, but the voice seemed to come from the red lips at her ear. She screamed. 

“Sandor! Can you hear me? Please! You have to come back to me! Bran says you must do nothing! Nothing! It’s not him! Arya, It’s not him! He’s dead! He's no one... It’s not him… Oh Gods, you have to come back… don’t leave me again… I don’t know what it means… nothing... I don’t know what it means, Sandor… I don’t know what it means… I don’t know what it means…”

***

It was the GreatJon and Jonah who found her in the Godswood, at the hour of the Wolf, and carried her back to the Keep. 

Maester Paul told her she didn’t wake until the third day. When she did, her brother Bran was holding her hand.


	64. No More Names

Chapter 64 – No More Names

**Sandor**

In any fight, a curious thing happens in a man’s mind. Fear gives way, and the mind stills and clears, until only the sights and sounds and movements required to kill or be killed remain. To live or to die. Time slows. Details spring forth. Reflexes sharpen. Every breath lasts an eternity. 

This moment came later than he would have liked, because shock is a curious thing as well. 

Whatever the fuck was just led out to stand before him was both Gregor, and not Gregor. The shock of it turned him back into a small, terrified boy, in the face of an ever present monster.

Cersei’s words crabbed their way into his ear though, and it was then the fear gave way to anger. Fury. White hot hatred. That was the moment his world shrank and stilled until there was only Gregor. Watching him with those dead eyes. Only one man. And all he wanted was to kill him or die trying. 

The set of his jaw and his shift in posture was enough for the Little Wolf to read him, and in her own voice she snapped his name. May be it was in his head, or it may be no one else noticed, but the voice cut through to him, as did another. 

Sansa.

She was calling out for him. Willing him back to her. He couldn’t make out her words, but she had felt his fear, his anger. He felt her fear as well, and his mind understood.

Nothing. Nothing about this dead man in front of him mattered. This was not Gregor. This thing was no more human than the wights he slaughtered one after the other at Winterfell. And whatever he was now was far more terrible a fate than Sandor could ever hope to cast upon him.

He and Arya needed to make it home. To Sansa. To Winterfell. That’s all that mattered now. He needed to think. Needed to buy them some time.

“So have you chosen, Clegane?” Cersei asked. “I would think it a fairly simple decision to make, even for you.”

He felt Kettleblack release his grip on the arm he held, and heard Tormund’s slow, measured breaths on his other side. Both were ready for whatever came next.

A movement caught his eye. Qyburn. The Hand. He had taken a step further into the room, and was staring at Gregor with a self-satisfied grin, proud of his horrific creation. 

Sandor turned to face him. “So this is your work, is it? This rotting pile of flesh and bone stuffed into armor? Not exactly typical Maester’s work.”

“Oh, no. I am no Maester.” The man said softly. “The Citadel would never approve of such a wonder. But they choose to let their minds stagnate with old learning, while I chose a bolder path.”

“You a red priest too? Can’t imagine your fire God wanting the likes of Gregor Clegane for anything more than a smoking corpse.”

The little man chuckled. “No, no. This is no red God’s work, no magic, My Lord. Only the wonders of knowledge, learned and applied. This is the art of Necromancy, and the fruit of all my years of study.”

“Necromancy” he heard Kettleblack whisper to himself.

Sandor sniffed. “Your fruit has gone spoiled and stinking.” 

He saw Cersei grimmace, and barked a laugh. “Is this monster all you could come up with to replace your brother? My dead brother? Does his corpse warm your bed as well, or is it cold and damp?

“How dare you speak of Jaime to me!” she snarled. “You know nothing.”

“Might be. It’s true you know much about what’s happening in the North. You knew of my betrothal. I wonder if you know of Jaime’s. To the big wench. Brienne of Tarth.”

He watched her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare.

“I see that you do.” He laughed. “Can’t say I see the appeal of fucking a wench half a man, bigger and stronger than yourself, but they say love is blind. Has to sting though, knowing he chose her over you. He took his name, his sword, and what was left of his honor and rode as fast and as far as he could from you, didn’t he? Now he’ll start his own House in the North with Brienne. Their babes will be as fair as yours were.”

“ENOUGH!” Cersie screamed, and grabbed for a dagger resting on the desk. She charged him with blood in her eyes.

That’s when all seven hells broke loose at once.

***

Before Cersei could reach him, Gregor’s enormous mailed fist collided with the side of her head, and sent her crashing into the stone wall with a sickening crunch. She slid bonelessly to the ground, eyes open, but now only seeing whichever of the Hells awaited her.

Tormund pulled the axe from his back and Kettleblack threw Sandor his sword as the dead Mountain raised his own and closed in. He was slower now, this Gregor, but that he still possesed all of his horrible strength was apparent. 

But before he could catch his sword, Gregor’s came down. Tormund’s axe turned it before it could cleave Sandor in two, and the Wildling had it raised again for a blow of his own in an instant. 

As he scrabbled to his knees after his sword, he heard the axe strike home, and turned to see it driven deep into the unprotected gap below Gregor’s gorget and shoulder. 

For a living man it would have been a death blow.

But this was a dead man.

The axe remained where it was sunk, and the Mountain raised his sword again.  
Kettleblack tore off his face, and Arya drew Needle and her dagger.

“Not him!” She screamed, “HIM!” pointing to Qyburn, who was running for the solar door that led to the back passage. “He must die first! It’s the only way!”

Sandor rolled away from his brother’s next blow and came to his feet with his sword in hand.

“Nothing! There’s nothing you can do to stop him like this! Let’s go! Qyburn is getting away! Now Godsdammit!” Arya shouted as she ran for the door the Hand had just disappeared through. 

He wavered for only a heartbeat. Then ran after her. 

Tormund had taken up Kettleblack’s sword, discarded with his empty uniform, and hacked away one more of Gregor’s blows before he followed. 

Arya was off fast as a cat down the spiraling back stairs after the Hand. Sandor couldn’t see her, but heard her cross swords with someone, and the grunt he made when he fell.

By the time he reached the guard’s corpse its blood had coated the stair. He slipped in it but managed to keep his footing.  
There was more blood spattered on the steps below, a trail of droplets. From Qyburn or Arya he didn’t know.

Tormund was close behind him, and they could now hear the heavy steeled steps descending after them from above. Falling as slow and steady as a death knell. 

He looked over the rail and caught a glimpse of Arya on the landing below before she disappeared off down a hall.  
He followed the blood, and they came upon two more dead guards.

“Where is she going Clegane? We can only outrun that giant fucker until he attracts half the castle. Then we won’t be running anywhere.”

“Throne Room.” 

They stepped over two more dead guards slumped before the doors.

“Others take me, what IS that little girl?” Tormund asked, staring down at the dead men.

"No one." Sandor laughed. 

They pushed through the massive double doors in time to see the Little Wolf take to the air at the far end of the massive hall, and land on her belly with a crash, holding tightly to the ankle of a splayed out Qyburn. 

The vast room was empty, and every sound echoed through it.

As he ran towards them, he saw that the fall had stunned the Hand, he groaned in pain, but did not try to rise. Arya let go his leg, and stood wiping the blood streaming from a cut to her forehead out of her eyes.

“Finish him, Clegane. Finish him and you finish Gregor. It was Necromancy. Not like Ser Beric or Jon. That one was not given life by a God, nor was it paid for with death. The Many Faced God will take them both. His death now pays for death.”

“What in the bloody hells are you talking about, girl?” he barked.

“I don’t care the reason,” Tormund shrugged, raising Kettleblack’s sword. “I’ll end the little fucker.”

“No. It has to be Clegane.” 

“Because the big dead fucker is his brother? You Southerners have strange ways.”

They all jumped as the double doors were thrown open and crashed into the walls behind them, the marble cracking and falling to the floor. Gregor filled the doorway, still with the axe buried in his neck. 

Qyburn had come to and was trying to crawl away. Arya put a knee into his back, pinning him in place.

“Now, you bloody aurochs! Now!” she screamed as the steel steps began the long walk across the room, each one echoing off the marble walls.

He met her eyes, and nodded. 

She rose and kicked Qyburn over onto his back, and Sandor brought down his sword, severing the man’s head clean.

But when they looked, Gregor did not fall. Sandor watched him only pause a moment, then take another step.

“That didn’t work, girl." He growled. 

“Wait, Clegane!” Arya tried to reach for him, but slipped in the spreading pool of Qyburn’s blood and went down. 

“Get her out of here!” he yelled to Tormund as his brother closed in. The Wildling scooped her up around the waist and made it two steps before he slipped and went down as well.

“Fucking Hells, Others take the two of you! Get out! Get back to Cersie and finish this!”

He stepped towards his brother and with a roar he readied his sword. Gregor threw his own sword aside, and pulled the axe from his neck, raising it high.

And then he collapsed. Crashing down in a heap of armor and rotting flesh.

Sandor backed away, stunned. Slipping in Qyburn’s blood, he landing on his arse next to Tormund and the Little Wolf.

“I did tell you to wait.” she said, and started to laugh. He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. 

“Heh heh, that she did, Clegane.” 

Arya was still laughing like a mad woman, and soon the same madness overtook him as well. He laughed until tears ran from his eyes. He dashed them from his face and lowered his head to his arms. That’s when the sobs shook him.

He didn’t see the Little Wolf crawl over, but felt her put her small arms around him. 

“Clegane, remember when it was just you and I? That night I was saying my names? You had said ‘If we come across my brother, maybe we can both cross a name off our lists.’ Well, it’s done. There are no more names on our lists. We’re free.” she whispered. The Little Wolf held him tight. “He was no true brother. And you have two new brothers now. And a sister.”

He put an arm around her and held her to him. She was right. The little killer-crone-wolf-girl. He had a family now. Wolves, and dragons, and Ravens, that took in a broken dog and made it one of their own. Their pack a menagerie, but no less a pack.

He took a deep breath and held her out from him by the shoulders and kissed her bloody forehead. “You’re still a little shit.”

“Aurochs.”

“Southerners.” Tormund shook his head, rising and going over to where Gregor lay to retrieve his axe. He wiped it on Qyburn’s robes, then began walking to the dias.

“What the hells are you doing?” Arya asked him. “We still have to go back and get Cersei’s face, surrender the city, then ring the bell, all before we’re caught.”

“And we will. But I came this far, and before I go, I may as well see what it feels like to be the first Free Man to sit his arse on the Iron Throne! Har! Imagine that story! Better than fucking a bear!

And so he and the Little Wolf laughed again. This time to watch Tormund Giantsbane, the mad ginger Wildling dressed as a Lannister guard, axe in hand, climb the steps and sit his arse on the Iron Throne.


	65. The Messenger

Chapter 65 – The Messenger 

*Sansa*

The conversation got off to a terrible start. 

She woke to a bright morning sun shining into her sleeping chamber, Bran at her side, and she remembered everything. She sat up quickly and turned to her brother.

“Raven!”

“Yes.”

“Has there been one?”

“I thought you were addressing me.”

“No, Bran! I would call you Bran. Has there BEEN a raven?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what news?”

“It was brief.”

“WHAT DID IT SAY BRAN?”

“All are well, Cersei is dead, and Queen Daenerys Targaryen sits the Iron Throne.”

“What of Sandor? Arya?”

“All are well.”

“Oh, thank the Gods. When will they be home?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps there will be another raven soon with more news.”

All were well. 

The relief flooded her, and she flopped back onto her pillow. But how long had she slept? She sat back up again. What was going on in the castle? With the Guard? Her Lords? Flinging the cover back she rose and began looking for her robe.

Trey knocked at the open door, and popped his head in.

“Lady Stark! You’re up! Would you like me to fetch you some tea or wine?”

“Thank you Trey, some tea would be wonderful, and perhaps something sweet to eat if you can find it? I’m famished. And Trey, once you return, I’d like a full report on what’s transpired since I took to my bed. Also, let Evvie know I’ll be ready for a bath after I’ve had some breakfast.”

“Would you like me to send Maester Paul as well? To see to your hands?”

She held them out and saw where the nails had torn, and the scratches and cuts were crusted over. They were sore, but would heal.

“I’ll run up later to let him have a look. No need to trouble him now.”

“Very well my Lady. Then I’ll go see to your breakfast, and I’m very glad you’re up and feeling well again.”

“Thank you, Trey.”

After Trey closed the door she turned to her brother, hands on her hips.

“I should go.” Bran said

“Oh no, you’re to stay right here and explain what happened to me in the Godswood.”

He shrugged again. It wasn’t so endearing this time.

“Bran…”

“I could see you. At the Heart Tree. Praying to the Old Gods. And it came to me, the connection. A way to see. To communicate. So I used you.”

“Used me! How?

“You’re connected to the tree. Sandor as well, and now all three of you are connected by the rings carved from its branches. Once I realized they were more than just sweetly symbolic, I used them as a conduit. I should have figured it out sooner.”

“So now you’re saying the rings ARE magic and connect Sandor and I to each other, and to you and the Heart Tree?”

“No. They’re not magic. And it’s love that connects you to Sandor. Love is it’s own connection that has nothing to do with me. You’re connected to the tree by your blood, your prayers, and your vows. I would say the rings were a useful coincidence, but there are no coincidences. More likely I knew I’d need them, just not at the time. But it worked. I could see and send my message.”

“So all that was you using me like one of your ravens?”

“In a way, Little Bird.” He smiled. 

“That’s not funny, Bran. I was terrified. I didn’t know what was happening to me.”

“For that I apologize, but it was necessary.”

“And the vision I had before they left?”

“A message for me. As I said, this generation of Stark blood has power. It flows through your veins as it does mine. Arya and Jon are whargs. I am a greenseer, destined to become the Three-eyed Raven. I’m still not sure how it will be for you. It may have been just this once, or you may see things again in the future if the Old Gods see fit. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Lovely.” She rolled her eyes. “If all this protected Sandor and Arya then I can’t very well complain, but in the future I’d appreciate some warning if I’m to have messages tied to my leg and sent off. And it would be best not to mention this to Sandor unless he was aware of something unusual and asks.”

“Very well.”

***

Later that day, after she had caught up on all she had missed while she had slept, she climbed the steps to see Maester Paul. He assured her that her hands were healing well, and she had him send off a raven to the Capitol with her well wishes to the new Queen, and to ask after Sandor and the others.

Afterwards, she went in search of Jaime Lannister. 

She found him in the room he had claimed as an office in the Guard's barracks. He sat behind a large table, working on his schedules for the men, but stood when he saw her in the doorway. 

“Lady Sansa.”

“Lord Jaime. Sit, please. Would it be alright if we had a word?”

"Of course." He gestured to the chair beside him, and pulled it out for her.

The young, golden knight she had first seen ride through the gates of Winterfell with King Robert had looked much older and world-weary when he arrived the second time, to pledge himself and his sword to the battle against the dead. But in this moment, with the lines of his face etched a bit deeper, and his eyes rimmed red from sorrow, he looked older still. Grief had taken its toll. 

Sansa came around the table to sit, and reached out to take his one remaining hand in hers. She hadn’t known what she would say to him, but as she looked into his eyes a memory came to her.

“Back in Kings Landing, shortly after... my father... your brother Tyrion arrived to take his place as Hand to Joffrey. We were all outside to watch a small tourney for the King’s name day when he rode in. He was so happy to see Tommen and Myrcella, and it was sweet how excited they were to see him as well. But what I’ll never forget was that despite being a Lannister, surrounded by Lannister men, and before the King, he took a moment to come to me, take my hand, and offer his condolences for the loss of my father. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me. So I hope to do the same. I cannot mourn for Cersei, but I mourn for your loss, and offer you my sincerest condolences.”

Jaime hung his head, and grasped her hand a little tighter. When his words came they were thick with emotion. 

“I felt it, you know. The moment she died. It’s hard to explain. When I lost my hand, afterwards, I could still feel it there. But when Cersei… it was like half of me went dark. Came untethered, and floated away. And now I’m… half.” He sniffed, and looked up at her. “I know what she was. What she became. Hells, I know she even wanted me dead. And I knew this was coming. I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much. But I thank you, my Lady. For your kindness in this. In everything.”

“Jaime, I'd reassure you that with time, and the love of Brienne, Tyrion, and we, your friends, the pain will lessen. It has for me. I lost two parents and two brothers, but not a twin. Maybe it just takes more time and more love, so please know that we will always be here to offer you both.” 

He smiled sadly through his tears, and kissed her hand. 

She left him with his thoughts and his grief, and said a silent prayer asking the Old Gods of the North to watch over him, now that he was one of theirs. She would do her best to watch over him as well.


	66. A Targaryen

Chapter 66 – A Targaryen 

*Sandor*

“This city stinks, Clegane. The heat, the noise, the people. There’s too many fucking people here. It’s not natural. Thousands of miles of open space in the North, and these fools want to live like rats, piled atop one another.”

“Aye. That's how cities work."

He and Tormund were atop the Maester’s Tower of the Red Keep, looking down on Kings Landing below. It's a view he'd looked upon a thousand times, but not before now did he wish to see rolling hills and cool green forests instead.

They had come up to the tower with Tyrion, who had been trying to keep up with the ravens. With Pycelle long gone and now Qyburn dead, there was no one else to see to them. He was hoping to get a message off to Sansa. So they climbed the stairs behind the little Hand. 

By the third flight of watching the dwarf struggle up each step before them, Tormund picked him up under the arms.

“Put me down, you fool. If you’re that impatient, go up ahead.”

“But this is better. Now your little legs won’t hurt the rest of the day.”

“No, just my pride." The dwarf sighed. But after they quickly ascended the next flight, he changed his tune. "Then again pride IS one of the deadly sins. And there are four more flights to go. Alright, carry on.”

There were two birds just arrived and waiting, quorking and shitting all over the former Maester’s desk. They carried no news, only more courtesies to the new Queen. 

Now, as they looked out from the Maester’s balcony, behind them came the sounds of Tyrion struggling with the cage of ravens trained to fly North. His curses almost drowned out by the squawking and flapping birds.

“We’ve got to get out of here, Clegane,” Tormund said, not for the first, or the fiftieth time, since they’d arrived in Kings Landing. “Go home. North. I don’t think I can take another day. I can’t breathe here.” The Wildling pulled at the collar of his borrowed linen tunic. He looked smaller without his layers and furs, almost as if he was melting for true in the city heat.

“But your little Queen is here. This is her city now.”

“Don’t think where I am matters much to her at the moment. I’ve barely laid eyes on her since she flew in on her dragon and sat her arse on the throne I warmed for her.”

Once the Wildling had enough of his short reign on the Iron Throne, they had returned to the Royal Solar, where Little Wolf took Cersei’s face, and worked her strange art. The former Queen then made it known to the Red Keep that she was surrendering to the new Queen, and after that things moved quickly. 

There was little resistance to her surrender, even by her most loyal retainers… most of them were already harboring their doubts of her success and sanity, and the rest just wanted to keep their heads once she fell. Not a soul asked where she had vanished to afterwards.

Once the tower bell had been set to ringing, the little Queen, Tyrion, and Snow had flown in, landing first upon the outer walls of the Keep, and then atop the Throne Room itself. The arrival by dragon was less dramatic in the dark of night, but plenty of drama was to be had the next morning, when those who had slept through the change of power woke to find two dragons lounging in the outer bailey. That had caused quite a bit of chaos, and he had to admit he enjoyed every moment of it. Watching formerly smug Lords, Ladies, and Lannister men all pissing their small clothes.

“Queens are busy ladies.” He reminded Tormund. 

There was a crash behind them, and they ducked as a dozen birds flew out over their heads in a rain of feathers.

“Fuck me.” Tyrion waddled out to watch them go. “Thrice damned birds. Well, they’re headed North, only before I could actually get a message on any of them. Remind me to send at once for a new Grand Maester from the Citadel.”

“And which cage of birds do you loose next to get that done?” Sandor sighed. There would be no message to Sansa today.

“Good point. I’ll send a rider to Rosby. I’m sure they’d be delighted to loan their Maester to our Queen for a bit.”

“You need this man just to tie a little paper to a bird? Ha! And you call me a fool. Show me this bird.” Tormund pushed up his sleeves. “You Southerners.”

He left them to it, and went looking for Arya.

Walking through the Red Keep, everything reminded him of Sansa and their time here, but none of it in a way he wanted to remember. His thumb spun the ring on his finger, and he drove the thoughts away.

The Little Wolf was in the Small Council chambers with Snow, a sour look on her face. He was glad to find them both here.

“Jon.” He nodded, “So when do we go? I’ve had about as much of this place as I can take.” He sounded like Tormund, but he was beyond caring. He just wanted to go home. All he could think of was throwing open every window in the Lords chambers of Winterfell to let in the fresh clean air, peeling the dress from his beautiful wife, and kissing her from head to toe before he took her on that enormous bed... then sleeping for a fortnight.

Jon Snow grimaced. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Sandor. I know. My sister here was just making the same case. We'll go soon, I promise. I like it here little and less. But I can’t leave Dany until the Unsullied arrive, and Varys and the lot from Dragonstone. The city is still wary of the dragons and Dothraki, and I don’t yet trust the Lannister guards that came over.”

“They should just be grateful the city wasn’t sacked, and all that’s burning are their hearth fires.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Tormund and I rode out to the Kings Gate this morning like you asked. The first of the wagons are rolling in, and the line behind them long. The small folk will feel more welcoming with their bellies full and the markets open again.”

“I'm sure they will. Dany will see that they're all fed. I know they'll come to love her in good time."

“Jon said we can’t keep the dragon.” Arya blurted out angrily, and crossed her arms over her chest, reminding him of the little shit she was, back when it was just the two of them. He smiled. 

“Arya, Rhaegal is not my dragon to keep, and even if he were, dragons don’t like the North. They prefer it warm. They shouldn’t even be here, in a city. They should be somewhere they can fly and hunt freely.”

“But he IS your dragon! He’s even named for your father!” She realized her slip, and both Starks glanced his way as he cocked his brow at them. 

“Care to explain that one?”

Jon sighed deeply. “Sansa didn’t tell you because she was respecting my wishes, although I’m sure she would have told you eventually. But no one can know. No one outside of our family. But you’re part of that family now.”

The Little Wolf piped in. “My Aunt Lyanna was his mother. She fell in love with Rhaegar Targaryen, and they ran away to be married secretly. Sansa thought it a very romantic story. But Lyanna died having Jon, and Robert killed Rhaegar. That part wasn’t so romantic. My father saved Jon, and brought him home to Winterfell."

“And the dragon Queen knows this?”

“Yes.”

Sandor watched them as the pieces fell into place. Jon Snow was the rightful heir to the Throne. Then another thought occurred to him.

“So Robert went to war…”

“Because no one knew the truth.” Jon said sadly.

All that warring and killing, just for a secret. He chewed on that a few moments before he spoke.

“I knew Rhaegar. I was young, but being in service to the Lannisters, we crossed paths often. Here, and at Tourneys. He seemed a good man. Always treated me well enough, for a prince. And he disliked my brother, so for that alone I liked him. I never really believed the story told, about him taking Lyanna Stark. He wasn’t the type.”

Jon smiled sadly. “It’s nice to hear him spoken of kindly. So few know the truth, and all the others only speak of the ills they heard of him in the end.”

“Now that I know, I see it. You look a Stark, but I can see Rhaegar as well. The maids loved that one. Must be how you got so pretty.”

Jon Snow laughed. Yes, Sandor could definitely see his father in him now.

“His real name is Aegon Targaryen. And he’s entitled to a dragon!” She glared at him. “You gave up the Throne, Jon, I’d say it’s a fair exchange.”

“Arya, neither belong to me. Not for true. I just want to go home, and from there, North again. Give me Ghost, a sturdy little garron, and no more war. I’ll be a happy man.”

“And Val.”

“I have no secrets now, do I? Yes. And Val.” 

“Well he’s a Targaryen, all right. But what, that one’s only a cousin, a bit better than having at your Aunt.” Sandor barked a laugh, and Snow shot him a look.

“So now we're stuck having to ride and not fly home. At least you won’t have to get back up on the big scary dragon, Clegane.”

“Shut up, girl. I did it, didn’t I? For you. Wasn’t that bad. A man could get used to it.”

“We could take a ship? That would be faster than horses. A galley in case we lose the wind. Sail right from here to White Harbor, then it’s a quick enough ride to Winterfell up the Kings Road?” 

The little Wolf seemed more enthusiastic about this idea, but Sandor was still thinking of Jon. Who he really was, and what he was so easily walking away from. The most powerful position in Westeros. He could rise from bastard to King, but wanted no part of it.

Sandor was never more certain he had ended up kin to the very best sort of people. 

He was suddenly proud of his little bit of Stark blood, be it generations back, and thought about the future. If he and Sansa had babes, his children would be Starks for true. It made his chest tight, and he sniffed. “Aye. A ship would do well. I just want to get on with it.”

“What’s this talk of ships?” Tormund said, entering the chamber with Tyrion behind him. Sandor wondered if he had carried the Imp down the tower steps as well. “Are we finally leaving this shit city, Snow? Good. Let’s go. I’ll miss my little minx, but when she gets bored of that ugly throne, she can fly off on her dragon to come ride me. Heh heh.”

Sandor gave the Wildling a look. 

“What? Snow knows. I took your advice, Clegane. I told him. Kept my balls too, har!”

“Have you discussed this with the Queen yet, Jon?” Tyrion asked, as he went to pour himself a cup of wine.

“My balls?”

“No,” Tyrion gave Tormumd a withering look. “Although it is fascinating to know how varied the Queen’s taste in men runs. I was referring to Jon’s plans to leave Kings Landing. And the Queen’s service.”

“I will. Once the Unsullied and the others get here.”

“She won’t be pleased to lose you.”

“Perhaps not. But she’ll understand. This isn’t my place. I belong in the North. I’m of no use to her here. I’m no good at politics and pageantry.”

“Says the man who brought the Free Folk and the North together to help save the world. Even though the world will never know it.”

“I brought the Free Folk down, but it was Sansa who won back the North, and formed the Alliance.”

“True. She does have a way with people and politics. And to be honest, you’re too much Ned Stark’s son to ever want to play the game.”

Sandor met Arya’s eyes, and she gave him the slightest shake of her head. So the dwarf had no clue who or what Jon Snow really was.

“That’s why Dany has you as her Hand. She trusts you, you have the titles, and you love the game.”

“That I do.” He hopped up into the Chair of the Hand, and rubbed his palms along the arms, then picked up his wine. 

“And you were made for this role, Tyrion. This city.”

The imp smiled. “That I was.” He held up his cup and saluted Jon.

“So, now that Dany sits the throne alongside her capable Hand, and the realm will be restored to peace, we will be going home.”

Home, Sandor thought. There was no sweeter word.


	67. Pups

Chapter 67 – Pups

*Sansa*

When Trey came to tell her that Maester Paul just received two ravens, she had to force herself to walk calmly past the men training in the yard, and only allowed herself to run once she got into the Keep. 

She assumed the birds would be carrying news, but Maester Paul said these two had arrived carrying nothing. 

“It’s not that unusual, my Lady.” he said, after noting the concern on her face. “Sometimes the scrolls fall off if not secured well, other times a pesky raven… or two… sneak away from a keeper. We’ll send them off from whence they came with an explanation, then perhaps we’ll get a reply that solves the little mystery of their origin.”

She did her best to hide her disappointment. It had been over a fortnight now since Sandor and the others had flown off, and she was desperate for word from him. She knew they had been successful, but until she saw the ones she loved whole and home, she wouldn’t be at ease. 

When Sandor vanished from her room the night of the Blackwater, he had left a hole in her life she hadn’t expected, and had stayed in her thoughts for years. She missed him then, but now, missing him was so very much worse. It was an ache in her chest, a hollowness. She could tamp it down by day, but it would return each night to consume her and drive away any chance of sleep.

The Maester seemed to read her thoughts. “There will be word soon, my Lady. I see how this strains you. You’ve not been sleeping well, I gather?”

She laughed. “Is it so plain?”

“No no, you look as lovely as always. But it doesn’t take a link from the Citadel for me to gather a new bride separated so soon from her husband would spend her nights staring at the canopy and not at rest. Can I prepare you anything to help? A light sleeping draught?”

“Thank you Maester Paul, but no.” 

At night she walked, feeling like a ghost in her own halls. She’d climb the steps to the battlements and search the skies for any sign of the dragon. As if each cloud that passed over the moon could be hiding him, and if she looked long enough he would emerge. The hardest times were the small hours before dawn when she would at last take to their bed, and Sandor's absence was always waiting for her. 

They hadn’t even shared their new marriage bed long enough for him to leave his scent behind, so try as she would, when she would creep over to the expanse of empty linen at her side, there was no trace of him to soothe her. So she would then lie there waiting for the pale sunrise with her thoughts swirling not of worry, but of want. 

His love had loosed a need she had never known lied within her. She craved the way his eyes drank her in, and made her feel beautiful. His hands tracing her skin so gently they raised gooseflesh, and at other times rough and hard in their passion. She could almost feel her mouth opening under his, his taste, and the kisses she would never tire of. But it was the thoughts of him taking her, having him deep within her; how full and whole and free she felt when they were joined, then the sweet ache between her legs afterwards. These thoughts were almost too much to bear some nights. 

She would blush sometimes as Evvie removed her robe before her morning bath, feeling like her thoughts and her desire for him were written on her skin.

Soon, she would tell herself again and again. Soon. 

By day she sat with Bran, Val, Sigorn, and Alys, setting their plans for the abandoned Nights Watch castles and the Gift into motion. Tormund was who she missed during these meetings. His blunt, bawdy chatter and booming laughter was the antidote to the mirror Val's own anxious vigil for Jon held before her, the seriousness of Sigorn and Alys, and Bran's… Bran-ness. But they had accomplished much and more anyway.

As the empty castles were assigned and lands bestowed, Sansa had the pleasure of seeing fledgling new houses born, and hope return to those she bid farewell and good fortune to as they set forth from her home to their own. All were sent with whatever provisions she could spare, a purse of Littlefinger's gold, and a standing welcome at Winterfell.

The GreatJon came to her at the North Gate one morning. She had just hugged the Glover sisters goodbye, with a promise that she and Lord Clegane would come see the eldest wedded to her brave knight at Deepwood when the date came.

“Winterfell's emptying out my Lady. Now I bet you’re wondering when you’ll see the back of me, eh?”

She laughed. “Never. If I had my way, I should like to keep you here. You’ve been such a help and comfort to us.”

“Anything for Ned's girls, and for my leige Lady. Know that. And in turn I know you have everything well in hand. So it’s time I got myself home to Last Hearth. I’ll be heading back on the morrow.”

“Tomorrow? So soon?”

“I’ll be leaving you with all of my boys. Aaron will stay until Clegane is back, and little Harry is hoping I’ll have a word with you about him staying on here at Winterfell. He wants to train for your Guard. An honorable position for a third son.”

“And it will be my honor to have him. Sandor likes him very much. But I am so going to miss you, my Lord.” She looked up at him. 

He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, a gesture her father had done often. “I’m just a raven and a ride away, girl. And don’t think I won’t come calling.”

“You’d better.” When he saw the tears in her eyes he picked her up into a bear hug. The GreatJon was never one for propriety, and for that she was grateful. 

“Ah girl, they’ll be home soon. Never you worry. My Jonah is in a sorry state as well, and I’m tellin’ him the same. And when they do get back, I told my boy I expect to see him and that sister of yours up at the Hearth before they head out on their grand adventure. Since I won’t likely be getting a wedding or whelps out of those two any time soon, I’ll be expecting you and Clegane to start filling this castle with pups. That husband of yours will give you strong, strapping babes to fill these halls again. Aye, you’ll have sons as tall as us Umbers!”

The rest of that day she thought about the GreatJon's words. Pups. She hadn’t given much thought to what may come of all the times she and Sandor had already made love. It was enough just to have him. With so much else going on, the idea of a pregnancy hadn’t even occurred to her. She felt no different, yet her hand went to her stomach, thinking his seed could have already quickened within her. The thought made her smile.

Sansa went about the evening lost in happy visions of Sandor returning to news that he was going to be a father. How sweet a way to welcome him home. He probably didn’t even realize what a wonderful father he would make, but she did. 

It wasn’t until much later, as the moon found her once again walking the battlements, that a darker thought crept in. Ramsey.

While she had shown Sandor the scars he had left her on the outside, she had never told anyone, even her sister, of the scars he had left inside. She knew she could never burden those she loved most with that knowledge. And while her skin had healed and her heart had come to know real love between a man and a woman… she wondered. At the time, with that monster, the fact that no child had been conceived was a blessing she thanked the Gods for at each moon’s turn. But now…

She searched the sky one last time. It had become a ritual. Prayers on her lips as her eyes roamed the heavens, her thumb aimlessly twirling her weirwood ring. But all she saw again this night were the silent stars.

Two mornings later she woke to find her moonblood had come, but her dismay was short lived, because the morning had also brought a raven.

Maester Paul had sought her out as she breakfasted with Bran in the family solar, and his smile told her these dark wings had for once brought bright words.

“Shall I read this aloud?” she quirked a brow at her brother. 

“No need.” He smiled serenely. 

As she unrolled the scroll, the solar door burst open and Val rushed in. 

“I saw the raven arrive. Is it word of Jon? And the others?” she asked breathlessly. 

“Yes.” She smiled as she read the words to Val:

“’Sansa, the Imp lost the damned birds, but they came back. Jon, Arya, Tormund, and I leave Kings Landing tomorrow at dawn by way of ship. If the seas are kind, should put in at White Harbor within a fortnight, will ride from there. Sandor.'”

Val’s smile lit her face. “A ship's not quite as quick as a dragon, but I’ll take it. They’ll already be on the water by now, and back before the next moon.”

“So Rhaegal will remain with the Queen. I’m a bit sad. Just when we’d become friends. I was beginning to enjoy having a dragon.” Sansa said.

“I’ll happily trade one dragon for the other.” Val laughed. “Best I find Jonah and give him the good word.”

After Val and Maester Paul had taken their leave, Sansa looked to her brother. “So Daenerys has her throne, her dragons, and we’ll soon have our family back. Will it be peace now, Bran?”

“To chase peace is to chase the wind. You will never hold it. The best we can do as humans is put up a large sail to catch what bit we can, and steer around the rocks.”

“Is the ship metaphor your attempt at humor?”

“Seemed fitting.”

“Such a funny Raven. Then until they return, I shall spend my days sewing the largest sail the north has ever seen. I mean to catch every breeze for my people."

She left Bran with a kiss, and made her way to where the new kennel was going up. The masons and builders had made excellent progress. All was done but for the interior work and the empty window holes to be filled with the glass Trey had seen ordered.  
The young carpenter’s apprentice who greeted her did a fair amount of blushing and stammering, but otherwise seemed to have a good grasp on the work. He took her within and pointed out where the new stalls and whelping boxes were rising. All should be completed before Sandor returned home, she was pleased to see.

Ghost had been coming and going from castle to wood of his own volition since Jon’s departure, and Nymeria would accompany him from time to time when he returned, often with one or two of her young pups in tow. As it turned out, today was such a day, and the wolves were waiting outside the kennel doors when they exited, as if ready to do their own inspection. 

“Will it be them who’s to be kenneled here, m'Lady?” the apprentice asked.

“No. Wolves aren’t meant for kennels. Direwolves especially. But I think they know there will be dogs returning to the castle. Let’s hope they take kindly to their new cousins.”

She sensed they would. These wolves were different. She laughed to think of Winterfell becoming the place both dogs and wolves made their home in harmony. It was quite appropriate, all considered. 

Trey found her later in the stables, visiting with Stranger. The great black beast was surprisingly easy to talk to, and she was almost sure he understood all she was saying. He seemed to enjoy her pats and scratches as well, and would nudge her gently with his head if she stopped.

Tom assured her his Lord's horse was being treated like a king, and was even allowing himself to be mounted for daily rides. “Such a lamb you’ve become, haven’t you, sweet boy?” she teased the horse as she offered him an apple. But as if to dispell any notion that he had somehow softened, he kicked the back wall and trumpeted. That done, he gently took the apple as Sansa laughed. 

Trey was still wary of Stranger, though, and stayed well back. “My Lady, I’ve just come from my mother. They’ve finished the uniforms for the household guard. She thinks you’ll be pleased with them. I saw one. Very handsome. She and her girls await your next task.”

“Wonderful. Let her know we’ll see to new livery for the household staff, and afterwards all the others. Take whatever orders she needs for materials. Tomorrow you’re headed into town. I’ll send two of our newly uniformed guards with you as escort, as befits your position, and I’ll ask Tom to find you a horse. It’s time you had your own.”

The boy tried his best not to show how much this pleased him. As quickly as he was taking to his new duties, she would be able to name him Winterfell's Steward for true sooner than she had thought.

“What else will you have me see to in town, my Lady?”

“Puppies.”

He laughed. “Puppies?”

“Yes. The kennels will be done soon, and if I recall correctly, the innkeep's brother breeds the most splendid deer hounds. I’d like to know if he has any new litters set to whelp soon. If so, tell him we’ll take one pup from each, and any recommendations as to who best to see about acquiring other breeds."

While she couldn’t welcome her husband home with news of a baby, she could do the next best thing. 

Pups, the GreatJon had said, and pups it shall be… for now.


	68. Coming Home

Chapter 68 – Coming Home

*Sandor*

The Little Wolf would have slept on the deck of the ship if the captain had allowed it. She spent her first days on board the Braavosi galley yammering with the crew and captain in their native tongue, but was soon pulling lines and climbing the rigging like a monkey alongside the men. When they’d take their meals she’d go on about how she just may save her coin, and buy a ship of her own. Sail the seas with her Umber. Her brother laughed and shook his head, but Sandor had no doubt the girl was as serious as the Stranger.

Tormund spent most of the time asleep. Once he knew he was finally leaving Kings Landing, he had sought out his little Queen and staked his claim. Kingdom to rule or not, he was going to woo the clothes off her a few last times before he set sail.

Their last evenings in the Red Keep were filled with feasts and dancing, with newly devoted Lords and Ladies arriving in the capitol daily to pay homage to Queen Daenerys Targaryan, Second of Her Name. Seems the realm remembered it was wiser to swear fealty to a dragon than receive a visit bathed in fire and blood.

The Queen wasn’t so indiscreet as to make spectacle of her ardor for the big Wildling, but anyone with eyes could see it. When they’d slip from the High Hall, three sets of eyes watched them go, longing to be at Winterfell with their own loves, and the rest nodded to one another knowingly. Queens had the luxury of doing what the liked, even if it was with savage Wildlings.

On the mornings afterward, he would have to suffer the details of this odd coupling.

“Ah, Clegane, how many men can say they’ve both ridden a dragon, and BEEN ridden by a dragon, eh? Tormund Giantsbane, dragon tamer for true! Now that’s a tale for a man to tell!”

“I wouldn’t tell that one, if I were you. Ladies don’t much care for that.”

“No? But why? I wouldn’t mind if she announced from the top of her pointy throne how my member makes her sing. Ha! How she cries out “Oh! Oh! Harder! Yes!” and calls me her ‘Ginger Giant’. Last night she took me out onto the balcony, to fuck under the moon and stars. That was the sweetest one yet. Ah, and the way she wiggles her little bottom when I-”

“Seven Hells, enough.”

“Oooh, I see Clegane, making your member lonely for your own pretty ginger, am I? Ha!”

“No, you’re making my head hurt with your yapping.”

“When you get home to your Lady, take her good and hard under the stars, I tell you. My little dragon says it’s special to fuck under the stars. May be true. Either way the breeze feels good on your arse. Har!! ”

So now the fool was making up for his sleepless nights bedding the queen by snoring like a boar below deck in his berth. He was like to sleep away the whole voyage at this rate. 

Sandor tried to blame his own sleepless nights on the snoring, but in truth he spent most nights on deck at the rail, watching the sea sweep by and willing the ship on faster. The truth of Tormund’s words grated, but were true nonetheless. His need for Sansa was torment. 

Snow was anxious as well, but as a man of the Night’s Watch and then a soldier, he had learned to take whatever sleep he could, whenever he could. To think the boy could have been atop the Throne instead of atop the Wall still struck him. But he would have chosen just the same if he walked in those boots. 

Once they reached White Harbor he was pleased to be greeted by the new Lord Manderly, and their foursome was fed well, given fine rooms, and their choice of horses from the stables the following morning. 

They chose to make camp in a grassy valley the next night, under a clear sky and bright moon. He and Arya tended the horses, and they all shared what bread, cheese, and fine smoked fish they had been supplied around the fire Jon and Tormund made. The night was cool and pleasant. Crickets chirped along with the crackle of the fire, and fireflies danced in the air around them.

“I can finally breathe again out here.” Tormund announced. Sniffing in a deep breath of air.

“That’s because you finally stopped snoring.” Sandor told him.

“A man needs his beauty sleep, Clegane. It’s how I stay so handsome.”

“Then you best turn in early again tonight.”

“We’ll be home by supper tomorrow.” Arya smiled as she licked the crumbs from her fingers. “But doesn’t it seem that food always tastes better outdoors? Beside a fire?”

“That’s not how you put it when we were down to eating acorns and squirrels in the Riverlands, girl.”

“Wasn’t my fault you couldn’t catch any fat rabbits, and would usually fall asleep before you’d even make a fire.” She turned to her brother and Tormund. “Did you know, this one used to roll me up in his horse blanket and truss me up like a pig at night?”

“Only at first. And tell them why, why don’t you.”

“Because every night I’d try to kill him.”

Tormund nodded. “I can see both sides of this. He’s a big scary fucker, but I think you’re the more dangerous one, little girl.”

Jon laughed. “Any smart man knows an angry woman is always the more dangerous one.”

“Best you men remember that. You’ve got yourselves a woman Queen and Wardeness now. We know the Daenerys and Sansa will keep these two in line, and my coin is on Val wrapping you right around her pretty little finger as well, brother. So consider yourselves lucky men.”

“And what of your Umber lad, Little Wolf? He lucky too?”

“He’s lived this long, hasn’t he?” She smirked.

“Our father always said it would take a very brave man to make a match of Arya.” Jon smiled at the memory, as he ducked the stick his sister threw at his head.

The boy may be Rhaegar's blood, but he would always be Eddard Stark's son and Sansa and Arya's brother in his heart. That was clear.

They talked and laughed, trading stories and barbs until the fire grew low, and the moon rose high.

“The best part of this journey wasn’t killing Cersie, or the Mountain, or making a Queen and riding dragons was it, Clegane?" The Little Wolf said softly to him as she laid her cloak out by the fire, and made herself comfortable. “It’s this.” she sighed. “Coming home.”

“Aye. It is. Something new for us.”

She smiled up at him and closed her eyes.

Sandor took the first watch as the girl slipped off to sleep. Probably to dream, and run howling and hunting with her wolf. When Jon awoke to relieve him, he spread his own cloak a safe distance from the fire on the other side of Arya, and slept better than he had in weeks.

**

When the horses crested the last rise and Winterfell came into view below, he let out the breath he felt he’d been holding all day. A lump threatened his throat. 

The others must have felt the same, for they pulled up beside him, and for the longest while they all looked on in silence.

In just the time they had been away, new grasses had already begun to push up through the scorched earth where the dragons had made their camp in the west field. It looked like soft green stubble over the black char.  
The sun was almost set, and its last rays seemed to make all the greens around them glow. 

A keen-eyed watchman must have spotted them, for the South Gate was opening. He expected to see a mounted party of guardsmen emerge, but before they could, a single rider shot forth at a gallop, and the Guards were left behind to catch up.

Even at this distance he could see her hair streaming behind her, as bright as the setting sun. He barked a laugh that was half sob, and Arya looked over at him with a smirk. “And you say I’m the sister with no patience?”

He put his heels to his horse. When she got close enough, she pulled up her mare and dropped from the saddle, as he did from his own. She ran the rest of the way to his arms and he caught her up, crushing her to him as she laughed and cried, and when his lips met hers at last he could taste both their tears.

They wouldn’t have known that the others had rode quietly past them, leaving husband and wife to their reunion, but for the retreating sound of Tormunds throaty “Heh, heh, heh. The stars are coming out, Clegane.”

Once the others were gone, he almost heeded the oaf's words and took her right there in the glowing green grass. When they reluctantly parted they were both out of breath and hungry-eyed. His Little Bird's red, swollen lips almost breaking his resistance. 

“Never again, Sandor.” She cupped his cheek. “Not for anything. Where you go, I go.”

“Aye, never again, Little Bird.”

It was full dark when they left the horses with Tom at the stables.  
“Welcome home, m'Lord.” The boy smiled as he took their reins. He greeted Stranger and washed up at the rainwater barrel before they joined the others in the Hall.

The great room was loud and warm, and rang with greetings as they made their way to their seats. He found he had no hunger for food. Just being here again beside Sansa, and looking around the Hall at his new family and friends filled him. 

Jonah had joined them at the high table, and the Little Wolf was sitting so close as to almost be in the lad's lap. The two whispered and laughed between making eyes at one another. Jon Snow and Val on the other hand would have been the picture of propriety if not for the unaccustomed smiles that never left them, and transformed their usually solemn faces. 

The more he took in; Gendry and Milly, Jaime and Brienne, Tormund bellowing for ale instead of grape juice, young Trey... the more his chest tightened and the bigger the lump grew in his throat. He tried to clear it, and didn’t dare meet the Little Bird’s eyes. Sansa knew though, and took his hand as he silently reminded himself he was the damned Lord of Winterfell now, and Lords didn’t weep on the dias.

“Pour him some wine already.” The Little Wolf told her sister. “I know that look. He’s about to crack like an egg.”

“Shut up, girl.” 

But she was right as usual. He had a cup of wine and finally his meal, and by the time the music began the only thing more he meant to have was his wife. There would be other nights for dancing. If she smiled up at him one more time with that look in her eyes and her lips still so red, he’d be in danger of taking her right here on the high table. 

He led her from the Hall and into the night. She knew where they were going as well as he, and once they entered the wood and the quiet enveloped them, he threw her over his shoulder. 

No sooner had he set her back on her feet under the tree then they were tugging off one another’s clothing in haste, their hands and lips everywhere. He meant for them to slip into the warm pool, but Sansa pulled him down onto their scattered clothes, biting at his throat and clutching at his back to hurry him on.

When at last he pushed inside her, so warm and so wet, her whisper of “Oh God’s, yes, Sandor" in his ear had him spending his seed within moments, as she gasped beneath him in her own pleasure.

In the pool they took their time. Their kisses slow and deep. Her wet hands glowed white under the moonlight as they slipped over his chest, and his were dark shadows as they traced her collarbones and he ran his thumbs over her breasts. He bent to take each nipple in his mouth until her back arched and her breath came faster. He let his hands trailed down the curve of her spine to cup her bottom, her skin feeling like warm silk under the water, and when she reached down to run her hand along his hardness, he groaned and lifted her onto him. He moved within her so slowly, savoring each stroke and the feeling of her arms tight around his shoulders, her long legs wrapping his waist.

They let the dark waters hold them as they moved together until it was too much for both of them. They clung together gasping as they took their pleasure, almost as if one being. There was nothing closer to the heavens than this for him. She was home to his body and his heart, and this was everything. 

**

*Sansa*

As they sat warm and content in the shallows, Sansa finally felt at peace. She curled into his lap, for she was loathe to leave the feeling of his skin against hers. 

“This is exactly how we spent our first night together here. Do you remember?"

“Mmm. Don't think for a moment that I don't recall every second. You made me believe in the Gods that night."

She combed back his wet hair with her fingertips, and he leaned his head back onto the grass and closed his eyes. 

“I’m not sure how I survived away from this for so long, girl.”

She laughed. “You still call me girl. I’m not so much a girl anymore, you know. I’m a married woman, wedded and quite properly bedded.”

“You’ll be a girl to me even when we’re grey and old, helping each other up the steps and wondering where all our teeth went.”

She kissed his upturned throat and went up onto her knees to lean over him and take his mouth into another kiss. She felt him stir again beneath her, as his hands clenched her bottom. Their need for one another knew no end tonight. 

She forced herself to break their kiss and rose, pulling him to his feet. “I want my husband in my bed now. I spent too many nights there without him.”

He chuckled. “As my Lady commands.”

They dressed and she held his hand through the Godswood. 

“This time, if we come across anyone who wonders why we’re wet, I’m not making any excuses. They’ll get an earful of how I was having my beautiful wife again and again in the pool. Being Lord has its benefits.”

She laughed as he scooped her up and carried her to the Keep. They did see others, but not a one needed to ask what their Lord and Lady had been about this evening. 

“M'Lord! Welcome home!” Evvie cried when they entered their chambers. 

“Good to be home, Evvie.” 

Sandor looked at the table she had set with cheese, bread, fruit, and plenty of wine. He gave the maid a nod. “Good idea. We’ll be needing that later.” Evvie beamed up at him, but made no move to go. 

Sandor laughed. “You planning on staying to watch, or will you be off then?” Evvie blushed to her roots and left the room with a squeak.

They undressed and Sansa turned back the cover to lay atop the sheet, stretching like a cat on its back.

“Stay right there, Little Bird, just so.” He told her as he went about the room opening the windows to let in the night air. Her skin gooseprickled, but the air felt delicious anyway. 

“I think you’re reading my mind. This very sight is what got me through weeks of city stink and ten nights of snoring.”

She was about to ask, but he had come to stand naked before her, and all she could do was rise to one elbow, and devour him with her eyes. The burn scars she no longer even saw on the handsome face she loved so well. Every long line and muscle. The battle scars across his chest and the soft raven hair that ran down his hard stomach. She sat up to run her fingers through it. But he pushed her gently back down onto the bed and slowly kissed her everywhere until she was half mad. But it was when she pushed him onto his back and did the same that she thought Evvie would surely burst back in with the poker in her hands. 

He kept his vow to use every inch of their marriage bed when he returned, and by the time they had finished they were both flushed and slick with sweat. 

They rose to have wine and she fetched their robes. He sat at the widow seat that faced North, and pulled her onto his lap. They sipped their wine in lazy, languid silence, looking down upon the treetops that led into the Wolfswood. 

As the moon rose higher, its light crept in to wash over them. She heard a wolf howl somewhere out in the wood, and then another joined its song. She added her own soft “Owoooo…” and Sandor rumbled a laugh against her back. 

Soon she heard a soft snore behind her, and rose to pull him back into their bed. He was asleep before his head met the pillows, and she followed shortly after, curled against his warmth and breathing in his scent.


	69. Summer is Coming

Chapter 69 – Summer is Coming 

*Sansa*

The day Gendry and Milly left Winterfell for Storms End was hard.

The day Jaime and Brienne left for their new seat of Oathskeep was harder still.

Sansa had spent the last two turns admiring the compassion and understanding with which Brienne weathered her betrothed mourning the loss of his sister and lover. She didn’t think many other women would have the strength to do such, but Brienne was as strong of heart as she was with a sword.

Sandor had kept Jaime busy with the Winterfell Guard, and at times they'd speak of the days past at Casterly Rock and in the capitol. 

And of Cersie. 

Besides Tyrion, there was no one else left that knew Jaime, Cersie, and their children as well, or for so long. When she’d inquire if he thought the conversations had been helpful, he’d shrug. “Don’t know, Little Bird. Nothing about those two was ever anything but a relationship destined to destroy them both. He survived it. She didn’t.”

But as the days passed Jaime slowly came back to them. He and Brienne were married in Winterfell's Small Hall, before their friends and a Septon she had sent to White Harbor for. To see them joined was to see how much love they truly shared. And by the time they stood at the gate saying their farewells, he seemed just as content and hopeful for the future as his new bride. 

Despite the recent departures, Winterfell was busier than ever, and it seemed her duties doubled each morning.

The days were growing warm enough to be Spring for true, and Bran had told her as much, even days before the raven had arrived from the Citadel to confirm the turn of the season.

She had made herself a new gown from one of the bolts of lovely fabrics Milly had left them. It was a pale, soft green, and of a linen so light it almost seemed a gauze. She had fashioned it after some of the styles from across the narrow sea she had seen on traveling nobles visiting Kings Landing during her time there.

The lower cut and lack of sleeves were perfect for these warmer days. She was working on a similar gown in lilac, and a shorter version in taupe for Arya, so it could be worn with her favored slim leggings underneath. If Arya liked it, she'd have the seamstresses make a few more for her before she sailed for Braavos. 

Arya and Jonah had left for Last Hearth four days past with Aaron and Harry, as promised. She expected them back within the fortnight. 

This morning Evvie had no sooner slipped the new gown over her head and wound her hair up then Sandor had come in, taken a long look, and sent Evvie away so he could slip the gown right back off her.

Afterwards he helped her dress again and loosely braided her hair.  
“Such a handsome handmaid.” She teased. He continued to wear his hair tied back in the Northern style, and she traced his jaw with the back of her fingers. He was keeping his beard short now, and she liked the way it framed his face.

“This handmaid would prefer you put on a different dress. One that doesn’t make every man in this castle want to do what I just did.”

“No other man in this castle gets to do what you just did.” She lifted her arms around his neck. “Spring is here and Summer is coming.” 

“I liked your old words better.” He ran his finger down her throat to her chest, pulling the fabric down until his finger stopped between her breasts. “I have something for you.”

He disappeared back into their sleeping chambers, and returned with a small box on his palm.  
“I was saving it for your name day, but…”

She took the box from his hand, and inside found a silver chain lying on a bed of blue velvet. When she drew up the length of smooth, shining links, a little silver bird emerged at the end, wrought in such fine detail it almost looked like it could take to wing at any moment.

“Oh Sandor, it's magnificent! Where…”

He took it from her fingers and stepped behind her, lifting it over her head to lay it on her chest. “In Kings Landing. Our little Hand apparently knows every jeweler in the city. He said this one was the finest.” She felt him trying to fasten the clasp. “Buggering tiny little… fucker… ah, there.”

He came around and took the bird in hand. The chain was of a length that allowed him to nestle the charm between her breasts, hidden under her bodice. She smiled up at him. “You had it made this length on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Aye.”

She put her hand over the hidden little bird. He was the most romantic man, and was completely unaware of it. She drew his lips down to hers. “Thank you.” She kissed him. “It’s perfect, Sandor. Perfect.”

**

Now as she rushed across the bailey, the sweetness of her morning had given way to the duties of the day. 

She spotted Val ahead, looking beautiful in a simple, light linen gown with its own shortened sleeves, and a neckline Sandor would call "too damn low" as well. These days Val's smiles came easy and often, and she had a whole new glow about her. Sansa ran to catch up with her.

"Val! I'm so glad I saw you."

“Lady Sansa, where are you off to in such a flurry?”

“I need to speak to Sandor and Jon. They should be in the yard. Care to come along with me?”

“Of course. You’ve been so busy of late, I feel I’ve hardly seen you except dashing about.”

“No busier than usual… no, that’s a lie. There’s suddenly more to do than hours in the day. Now I know why my father always looked so grim.”

She laughed. “You’re far too lovely to ever look grim. If anything, the color in your cheeks and your hair coming loose would make one think you just came from a good tumble, instead of a desk full of maps and scrolls and ledgers."

Sansa laughed. "And is that was has you so gay these days, tumbling secret dragons?" 

"Might just be, my Lady."

She linked her arm through Val's as they walked, sure there was even more color in her cheeks now, but it felt good to tease and laugh together like girls.

When they stopped, Val turned to her and gently tucked all the locks that had come loose from Sansa's braid back in, and curled a few around behind her ears. "Thank you." Sansa smiled at the sweet gesture, and noticed how Val’s eyes were an ever shifting mix of blue and silver. She fingered the long fringe Val wore over her brow, and brushed it to the side. “I could trim this. Your eyes are too beautiful to hide. Come to my chambers some evening after supper?”

“That would be lovely. I make a mess of it when I do it myself.” She gave Sansa a hug.

That’s when they both realized all the swords had stopped.

*Sandor*

Bloody fucking hells.

He saw Sansa and Val approaching, arm in arm, smiling and chatting like the young Ladies they were. They made a pretty picture.

But they had no idea the effect they had on the yard full of men and boys when they stopped before the rail, and began fussing with each others hair with their little touches and smiles, in their soft spring dresses cut too damn low.

In the yard every sword went down and every cock went up. In the sudden silence he even heard one boy whimper in the back of his throat, and almost laughed aloud.

He went to the rail. “Well, they’re bloody useless to me now. You two just broke the lot of them.”

Val laughed, and his Little Bird blushed.

Jon made his way over from the other side of the yard. “Could be a brilliant battle strategy though. Have them put on that little show before the enemy, and then all your army would have to do is ride around lopping off heads. They’d never see you coming.”

Sandor tuned back to his men, still frozen in place. “Dismissed!” he barked. “Put your tongues back in your mouths and your cocks back in your breeches and go see to rolling your mail. Anyone still waiting on their swords and spears go see the smiths. Away with you drooling fools already.”

“I’m sorry Sandor, we didn’t mean to disturb your men. I would have sent Trey, but I have him working with Maester Paul today. We received a raven from Tyrion. The first group of Royal Northern Guard are on their way, and I’d like your counsel.” She looked between him and Jon. “I thought perhaps we could meet over supper? In the solar?”

“Should I advise Sigorn and Alys to attend?” Jon asked. 

“No, this is my responsibility.” Sansa replied. “But I do wish Tormund was back already. Sandor, how much longer until the guest wings are ready? Tyrion said to expect them before the next moon. Five hundred men was the last count he received.”

“They’ll be ready.”

Sansa sighed. “As pleased as I am that Tyrion and the Queen are honoring our agreement, this is more men than I expected, and arriving sooner than I had expected. So much needs to be arranged now, and before he starts sending more. The garrisons, command, training.” 

He saw Jon and Val exchange a look before the Ladies took their leave. 

Once they were alone, he studied Jon a moment, and knew. "You want this, don't you?" It wasn't really a question.

“I do.”

“Good.”

**

Late that night they returned to their chambers, and after dismissing Evvie, Sansa poured them each a cup of wine. 

“It’s more than I could have hoped for.” She smiled. “To have Jon and Val stay. To marry and make Winterfell their home. I thought I’d lose him beyond the Wall. Now we’ll have little Mason here, and when they have their own children…”

“Aye. It's a good thing. Your brother is a fine man and a born leader. This position will serve him well. As will being in his home, with his family around him."

Jon had presented Sansa that evening with both his plans to marry Val, and his hope to stay on at Winterfell and lead the Royal Northern Guard. He would see Winterfell as their headquarters, used to barrack and train the new recruits before assigning them posts at either their main garrison at Castle Black, or elsewhere along the Wall and in the Gift. 

“I’d like to offer command at Castle Black to Tormund. No one knows the far north better. Many of these men will be southern and will need to be taught the ways of the North, both here and beyond the Wall. Its always winter up there, and no one knows winter better than Tormund Giantsbane."

His sister had almost knocked the boy over when she flew into his arms.

“Now we’ll need to build another stable, and a Hall to feed them in, and more yards train…” her brother cautioned her.

“Whatever you need Jon. You'll have plenty of coin from the Crown, and this castle has nothing if not room. The Royal Northern Guard is yours. But I have one condition."

"Name it."

"I name it Stark. I name you Jon Stark, because you ARE a Stark and grant you the honorific of Lord because you are a son of Winterfell. So you'll take the name and the title, and I won't take no for your answer."

He smiled, and touched his sister's cheek. "Yes, Sansa. I would be honored to take Stark for my name. I don't need the Lord, but I'll take it. Sounds better anyway. Lord Commander Snow, why not Lord Commander Stark?"

He and the now Lord Jon Stark were left to discuss the changes needed to prepare the castle, and Sansa and Val hugged, cried happy tears, and held hands as they set to prepare a wedding. 

**

Now he opened the windows to cool their bedchamber. They had quickly learned how warm the Lord’s chambers always were. A fire would only be needed on the coldest of winter nights. He counted this as a boon.

Sansa took her wine to the window, and sipped it looking out over the darkened southern bailey.

Sandor pulled off his boots and undressed. When he saw she still stood silent and gazing out the window, he went to her, slipping an arm around her waist and resting his chin atop her head. 

“Sandor, does it trouble you that I haven’t gotten with child yet?”

He chuckled. “No. We haven’t even been wed half the year. There’s no rush Little Bird.”

“And what if I can’t?”

“Then this lifetime with you will still be more than I had ever dared to hope for. I need nothing more than you.”

She put a hand over his at her waist, and looked up over her shoulder. “I need nothing more than you either. But let’s not stop trying.”

“No chance of that happening, girl.”

For the second time that day he slipped her dress over her head and tossed it aside. He held her in place and brought his lips to her shoulders before slipping down her small clothes, and she laughed when he nipped at her bottom. He stood behind her still, and cupped her breasts. The silver chain was all she wore now, and the little silver bird rested between his hands. Bending over he kissed her jaw, her neck, until she pressed her bottom back into his hardness.

She reached up behind her to grasp the back his neck as he ran his hand down her stomach and into the red curls between her legs. The cool air through the window raised gooseprickles along her arms and thighs, but her skin was warm and flushed against his lips. When he pressed himself up into her she hummed a note of pleasure, and clutched him tighter. 

As the breeze blew in and over them, he wondered if anyone below were to look up, would they see them in the open window? Didn’t matter. If the Queen could fuck a mad ginger atop the Red Keep, the Lord of Winterfell could have his Lady wife before their open window. 

When she grasped the frame for support and wiggled her bottom against his hips he suddenly had an idea of what Tormund had been talking about, but what she was doing felt too bloody good to think on at the moment. He could only concentrate on not spending himself just yet, and not toppling them both right out the open window. That would be one hell of a way to meet the Gods, but definitely not the worst he'd ever seen.

When he told Sansa of his thoughts afterwards, she laughed so hard her wine came out her nose, which made him laugh even harder. If anyone had entered the room at the moment, they would have found their Lord and Lady looking like anything but. 

Yes, he thought as he lie with a sleeping Little Bird curled up against him in their big bed, babes would be a blessing, but he spoke truly that all he ever needed was her.


End file.
